Signs Of Permanence
by Sky Samuelle
Summary: Nikita Wolfe is an ex-FBI agent, and has the gift to see the invisible forces guiding this world . Five years ago, she started a partnership with her best friend: Michael Samuelle, a sceptic detective, a player, but after all, her man.
1. Default Chapter

IF YOU ONLY KNEW  
  
by Robert Desnos  
  
Far from me and like the stars, the sea and all the other traditional trappings of poetic mythology  
  
Far from me yet present nonetheless although you're unaware of it  
  
Far from me, and even more silent than you are distant, since I keep on endlessly imagining you  
  
Far from me, my gorgeous mirage and my perpetual dream, in ways you just can't know.  
  
If you only knew.  
  
Far from me and perhaps all the more so because you not only ignore me, but ignore me more each day.  
  
Far from me because undoubtedly you don't love me or, what amounts to the same thing,  
  
because I doubt so strongly that you do.  
  
Far from me because you so methodically ignore my each and every desire.  
  
Far from me because you're so cruel.  
  
If you only knew.  
  
Far from me, O blissful as a flower dancing in a river at the tip of its underwater stem, O melancholy as 7 pm and sunset in a mushroom-cellar. Far from me and therefore still more silent than if you were actually present, yet more blissful still than some lucky, stork-shaped hour that falls down from above.  
  
Far from me at that moment when the stills are singing, at that moment when the silently foaming sea curls back up on its white pillows.  
  
Far from me, O my ever-present, constant torment, far from me and lost in the magnificent noises of oyster-shells, crushed by footsteps of some night-owl at the harborside, passing cafe-doors at dawn.  
  
If you only knew.  
  
Far from me, O my deliberate, material mirage.  
  
Far from me there's an island turning around as ships pass.  
  
Far from me, a herd of docile cattle wanders off a path, then obstinately stops at the edge of a steep cliff, far from me, O cruel one!  
  
Far from me a shooting star lands in the poet's nightly bottle. He promptly corks it up again, and for a long time afterwards gazes through its glass at the captive star, glimpsing constellations forming within its walls, far from me, you're that far from me.  
  
If you only knew.  
  
Far from me a house long under construction has just finally been completed.  
  
At the top of a scaffold a bricklayer in dusty white overalls sings a sad little song to himself and then, in the leftover cement in his mortar tray, sees the entire future of the house: the kisses the lovers and the suicide pacts, nakedness in the bedrooms of beautiful strangers and their most intimate midnight dreams, together with various voluptuous secrets caught in the act and revealed by squares of polished parquet.  
  
Far from me,  
  
If you only knew.  
  
If you only knew how I love you and--even though you don't love me--how happy I've become,  
  
how empowered and proud, for being able with your image in my mind to step out into this world, and able even to step out of this entire universe,  
  
And for being so happy, moreover, even to die for this.  
  
If you only knew how I've conquered the world.  
  
And you, so beautiful, and so seemingly unconquerable too, how completely you've become my prisoner.  
  
Oh you, who from so far away, completely conquor me!  
  
If you only knew. * 


	2. Chapter 1: The Beginning

******************  
  
Her life had gradually intersecated with his as stubbornly and intrusively as a bunch of nettles clinging to a robust oak.  
  
He was the oak: strong, majestic , and classically proud; she was the nettle: prickly, wild and persistent.  
  
Nikita Wolfe snorted amicably at herself and the strangness of her own comparison, gaining a curious glance from her junior coworker, who diverted his brown eyes from the computer screen and looked at her, waiting for her to speak.  
  
'' What ? ''  
  
She said mockingly, and arched her eyebrows. It was an effective show of bad temper she picked up at a young age watching her father, an ex-marine like few, during particularly annoying family reunions.  
  
'' Nothing, nothing, uhu ''  
  
Seymour Birkhoff returned to the internet research he was paid for, and in the land of virtually inexisting beings, at least for what concerned her.  
  
They were good friends, and she didn't delude herself into thinking that he was really intimidated by her quirks, but was growing tired of all the disbelieving glances she got these days. Specially from Michael.  
  
She brought to her lips the almost forgotten coffee, and shallowed the warm liquid, wondering once again why exactly she was there, working for the Samuelle Investigations, requested from a man who daily ridiculized her methods and beliefs.  
  
She becamed involved in the paranormal because she had known, for longer than she had memory of, that in the world exhisted and operated forces , primitives and mysterious, that others couldn't see or understand when she could. Listening to their voices, seeing that she was special, had helped her to survive her childhood. She lived passing from one abusive family to another, to end in an psychiatric hospital when she was nine, where she had the undubious luck to met Madeline Wolfe, the doctor who had healed her emotional bruises and understood her newest patient wasn't making up stories, the first time that little Nikita ran to her ,describing in detail a vision of a younger Madeline having an abortion.  
  
The alone woman she never called mother, as Paul Wolfe had been the alone man she never called Father, altrough he was sceptic, at first, about adopting a difficult and already grown child as her. They had adored her, and she adored them in return, yet she had not for second thought about giving up her gift, if even a such choice was been possible.  
  
From the time she was nineteen, she knew her dream job was in the FBI, and read without embarassement books and articles about sex cult, serial killers and rhyte homicides. The dream became a reality, and then a nightmare.  
  
Knowing or perceiving the truth behind the facts was a matter, and proving it, despite regulaments and procedures, was another. Even worse it was standing aside while she had dreams and visions that scared the hell out of her, comining too late on the homicide scene, or explaining her weirdest quirks to her older partner Roger, or being misjudged and undervalued for her being attractive and blonde.  
  
Her condition was sufficiently difficult, even if she had not had the bad idea to get personally involved with the Assistant Director Petrosian. In her youthful candor, she saw in her superior all she liked in a man, the thrill of power, and the seduction of the forbidden fruit. She had wanted to observe with her eyes if he was the one they said, but the love she felt for him made her blind to his unbridled ambition, to his openly cultivated narcisism, his presumption, his chivalry what expected a whorty reward, and any other faults she discovered in the decline of their explosive office affair.  
  
She belived she would love Egram forever, but in the aftmermath, bitterness was all the relationship left her with.  
  
In this delicate situation, she and Michael Samuelle crossed paths for the first time. He was still working with the police, and she was assigned to collaborate with him at the case of the disappareance of a 3years-old-boy, Adam Volker. Thanks to every one of their conventional and unconventional efforts, they found the kid: dead, in an open field.  
  
The parents were crushed and so was she. It didn't help her that the child molester was arrested. For weeks, the image of the Adam's little broken body followed her in her sleep and plagued her in her wake. That, and the desperate cries of his mother Elena, while she clung to him like she could guard him from futher harm. Detective Samuelle was hit by the tragedy as hard as she was, and although he didn't understand the extent of her feelings of guilt, they were unable to stay separated that night. She had invited him inside for a drink, and they slept together on her couch. He had known how to comfort her, and she was simply too tired to pass on the benefit of a good hug.  
  
From then, they managed to keep in touch, and it was him, seeing how miserable she was in FBI, who persuaded her to resign, offering her to be his partner in his project of an Investigative Agency. During 5 years of partnership, she saw him at his worst and his best, had know all his family, his friends and his flings, and had no doubt she would fall for him. It was clear Michael wasn't a man who falls in love. He was far too loving of his freedom to let any of his conquests put him on a leash. She admired that attitude because her love life, after Egram, was a sequence of consistent failures. He respected her too much to take her in his bed and for this she was glad.  
  
It was a ritual of their relationship that Nikita would talk humorously about his women, and Michael would laugh, complaining little seriously about her deviousness, half-attempting to defend them only to prod her sarcasm and laugh harder.  
  
Yet lately it was getting harder and harder to hide how irritated she felt with the familiarity he showed around her, and to ignore the pain she felt if he entertained female company in her presence.  
  
Sometimes, at night, she couldn't sleep and wondered where he was, if he was allright and if he too, was thinking of her.  
  
Which Nikita knew it was impossible, at least in those certain terms; she wasn't the type of woman he was attracted to physically. She was too tall, too lanky, and too blonde, not to mention too flat.  
  
Not my problem - she sternly reminded herself. She wouldn't ever risk the wonderful, deep, beautiful friendship they had for for some easy romance and casual sex. She pratically loved and respected him deeply like she loved and respected her parents. This stupid crush she was harboring toward him would just go away, if she had the patience to wait a little.  
  
*Too bad patience isn't my strong suit.* She sighed soundly, frustated at the betrayal of the mind. She had no control when came to men.  
  
*Why hell do I like only things that are no good for my health? *  
  
'' Are you ok? ''  
  
*Now, if even _he_ noticed, I'm really in trouble.*  
  
She thought slanting a sceptical glance in the desk beside hers.  
  
'' Why do you ask? ''  
  
'' You seem a bit off lately. I almost would think you are ...''  
  
'' What? '' *Could you sound more defensive?* She mentally scolded herself, and wished she could smack a book on her head for emphasis without looking like a total freak.  
  
'' Sad ''  
  
Birkoff seemed determined to not divert his gaze from the computer screen, and the thing unnerved her a little.  
  
'' Not sad, bored to death of me '' she muttered. She stretched to give relief to the sore muscles in her legs and shoulders. Who knew she was actually in the same position so long?  
  
'' In few words, I just need to get a life "- she reluctantly admitted, drinking last sip of her coffee -" outside there ''  
  
Amused from her apparent annoyance at herself, her companion took off his tinted glasses and smirked at her, his face looking suddenly younger and fresher.  
  
'' Since when ? ''  
  
'' Since when, my dear Sey-mour , the most exciting engagement of my Saturday night is reordering the archives with you. ''  
  
Nikita leaned back in her chair and pushed back her hair. She considered the decisively more enticing engagements of her life and work partner, who had ditched dinner with her in favor of one last hurrah with the puppy-eyed bimbo Lisa, next happy bride of the player-but-poor Robert Corliss. A match made in Heaven.  
  
'' Envy Michael and his blossoming social life? ''  
  
He replied to her with a hint of cynism, not entirely directed to his boss. In truth, he was thinking more of his brothers Jason and Gail. Mostly of Gail.  
  
'' Don't laugh, you're no better than me. ''  
  
'' Hey, I DO have a life! ''  
  
'' Sure thing, in cyber space. ''  
  
'' It isn't a sin to love technology. ''  
  
'' Oh, Shut it up. You can love it and still be an official member of the Real World. I doubt Michael will kick your ass if you get some air. ''  
  
She began to rummage in the second drawer of her desk and her hands emerged triumphant with lipstick and eyeshadow.  
  
'' What are you doing? ''  
  
'' I'm giving you two exact minutes to end anything you're doing, then we're going to pay a visit to Walter and Belinda. Saturday hasn't yet been completely wasted. '' '' It's late. ''  
  
'' We're talking of Volare's. Open all night and the better half of the day; and - she paused for effect - this is New York City: it's never too late to go anywhere. ''  
  
'' But I'm not dressed for going out? '' It was blatantly his last effort to win a battle already lost, and his complaint sounded more like a question.  
  
'' Don't make excuses. I'm not dressed up either. ''  
  
Birkoff looked her up and down while his friend got up and strode toward the bathroom. Nikita wore a blue chemise semi-trasparent and black fitting jeans; she was beautiful and in that outfit , he doubted she would looked out place anywhere . It wasn't too difficult remembering why he used having a crush on her. Right after G...  
  
He put his glasses in place and turned off the computer. Maybe Volare's wasn't a such bad place to end the night .  
  
******** 


	3. Chapter 2 : Volare's

********  
  
Birkoff furrowed his brows looking at the luminous and eyechacting insignia upon the engress, and thrusted his hands deeper in his jacket pockets when an hispanic boy collided with him.  
  
'' Sorry '' he told casually , looking staight ahead and going for his path without gracing him of a second glance, but Birkoff repayed him with equal disinteress keeping his eyes trained upon his blonde guide, and following her inside with a ease he didn't feel.  
  
The Security Man , a man he heard being called by Nikita as '' Davemport'', hugged her briefly and smiled at them as he let them pass.  
  
While nobody would defined Volare's a chic place, it was far from being a simple bar. Middle aged gentlemen in research of a diversion, married ladies looking for a nightstand, couple in need of some sane fun or of privacy ,police officers with late night turns and the most of the annoyed youth in range equally frequented it, and equally had their wishes met by the staff. Nobody could look out place there, and never in his life he saw so many totally different people reunited togheter.  
  
Loud music, drinks, food and billiards were what made the place suitable for an all-ages costumers of not too difficult tastes , and the somewhat unusual internal decorations reflected the hippy tastes of the owners.  
  
Walter and Belinda O'Brien were been, and in some ways were still, two whacko children of flowers, who spent the most of their adult life wandering around the world, and finally settled in New York only to keep themselves close to their son, beginning an working activity suited to their idea of free time .  
  
Birkoff rested his glasses in the breast pocket of his green shirt, vaguely disturbed by the changing lights his friend found instead so cool. I'm working too much - he thought at himself, blinking .  
  
Nikita seemed spot someone she reconized, and cheerfully made her way at the boot where they would sat. The barman, a man large and fat, with a red bandana on his forhead and a funny grin plastered on his cheerful face, came to them right away .  
  
'' Hey Rudy !''  
  
'' Nikita , long no see ! Where' s Michael ? ''  
  
He saluted her enthusiastically, and his blubby voice overhung the pounding music as he unawarely made Nikita , who was trying to not think of the subject, cringe and provoked Birkoff to stifle a chuckle at how he singsonged his welcome  
  
*Why everyone just presume I'm constantly joined to his hip? * '' Busy and elsewhere .'' - Nikita forced herself to continue to smile happily at Rudy ordering - '' A Cosmopolitan, straight up ''  
  
'' Comin' . Your friend ? ''  
  
'' Uh, I'll take a beer ''  
  
Birkoff looked around unconfortably, like if he had no idea of what he was doing there, or what he was supposed do. Nikita was rather bemused observing his sceptical glances at few of the costumers , until Rudy brought their drinks and he could concentrate on something else.  
  
'' So, see anything that you like ? ''  
  
She asked teasingly bringing the globet to her sly lips, enjoying her flirty choice of words.  
  
Her colleague, anyhow, understood nothing of the joke.  
  
'' I saw better places '' The beer went down in his troath  
  
'' I was talking about girls''  
  
'' Girls? ''  
  
Now all his sceptical looks were clearly focused on her.  
  
'' Did you never hooked up with someone in a bar ? Your highschool years? ''  
  
'' No. Why? ''  
  
'' It's a necessary step . '' She said leaning exaggerately toward him  
  
His eyes widened at the point she guessed his eyesballs could just roll on the floor, but he made an admirable attempt at keeping his mouth shut. In the complex he looked so funny that she wanted laugh out loud, but it would embarassed him.  
  
'' Take a look around. Do you see ayone look interesting to you? Anyone you might want to talk to? - she indicated a brunette of heavy make-up, smoking disinteressedly at the bar down from them - What about her? ''  
  
The boy at her side hissed with distaste. '' She smokes!''  
  
''Well, what about them? '' She tried again , eyeing a group of younger girls , freely laughing in a corner.  
  
'' What about you ?''  
  
Totally caught out guard from this one, Nikita cleared her troath, desperatly hoping that in the blank in her mind it would be formed a coherent reply.  
  
'' Me? ''  
  
Not being in codition to refrain himself anymore, Seymour Birkhoff erupted in a startling laughter ''Take it easy! I was joking! ''  
  
'' Jee, How mature of you '' She smorted, but was smiling as she rolled her eyes. Taking her second drink, her gaze casually fell on a interesting object. '' Birkhoff what about her ? ''  
  
This time she was pointing at long-haired blonde girl . A *very pretty* blonde girl who, chewing a bubble gum, danced with evident abandon. She wore a lightly clingy pink dress, and something in her reminded him vaguely of the Spice Girls. He thought that the girl looked like someone who feels awfully good about herself, someone at ease with life .  
  
'' Out of my league ''  
  
'' Oh, and in what league are you? ''  
  
He shook his head, defeated, and saw Nikita slinking off with definite ulterior motives. '' Where are you going ? '' he asked, uncertain if it scared him more the fact she was leaving him alone at the bar, or her potential intentions in doing so.  
  
She left without answering him, and got lost in the crowd.  
  
*I'm not made for this * - he moped, fighting an unexpected rush of panic . But there was definitely too much noise for he could entertain intelligent thoughts.  
  
Nikita returned soon, but this made nothing to assuage his disconfort. She returned with *the* girl in tow.  
  
'' Birkhoff say hello to Ginger ''  
  
''Hi '' The girl who he now knew as Ginger told him, blubbly and easily as he would expected from someone looking like her.  
  
'' Hi '' He shyly echoed.  
  
Seeing that her protegeè needed another shove in the right direction, Nikita sighed. It was necessary playing the host until he got confortable a little.  
  
'' I told her about your undying love for Metallica . I hope you don't mind ''  
  
'' Uhm, no''  
  
'' She told me you work in an Investigative Agency. Sounds pretty cool! '' Ginger sounded like a genuine person to Birkhoff,but he briefly wondered if her interest in his work meant she was someone attracted to luminous careers or good cars.  
  
Nikita, behind Ginger pushed up the corners of her lips, intructing him to smile  
  
'' Yeah.'' He smiled brilliantly, hoping he wasn't doing an ass out of himself.  
  
'' You have travel a lot, you have not? ''  
  
'' Not so often as people could think '' He continued to smile so much than he feared his face was cracking. At least, it seemed work against the awkwardness.  
  
Feeling that she had make an exit soon, or Birkhoff would never made a true move, Nikita choosed that moment to back on her strategy and leave. Plastering a smug grin on her face, she decided announcing she had leave:  
  
'' I'll be right back '' she explained briefly, turned her back at the young duo, and directed again toward the crowd of dancing people .  
  
'' Nikita! Wait! '' The Birkhoff's terrorized plea fell on deaf ears, and he looked at the girl beside him with a lost , puppy dog _expression . Ginger thought it was cute, in a adorable kind of way.  
  
'' My brother loves Metallica, too. He entered in a group with the same namme, played the drums but y'know my parents kicked him out of the house. He made too much noise. The whole neighborhood was complaining. ''  
  
'' Drums ...''  
  
'' You could hear him a mile away. '' Ginger stated, nodding and looking him with really huge blue eyes  
  
'' I played the drums when I was in High School... '' he began exicitedly, glad he finally found his way to break out of his mute-mode  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * 


	4. Chapter 3 : Meeting Gray

* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Nikita took refuge at the opposite side of the bar, where she ordered another drink and sipped it slowly, relishing the music flowing through her body, lifting her spirits.  
  
Once in a while she passed a curious glance in the direction of where she left her colleague. He appeared to be doing rather well, considering how Ginger was wrapped around him on the dance floor.Go Birky!  
  
Tapping her foot rhythmically against the bar stool, Nikita felt all the stiffness of the muscles in her neck ease a little. What a rough week.  
  
Following Simone Pham's trail from Venice to Morocco had been draining, both physically and emotionally.  
  
Their clients were people who wouldn't or couldn't confide in the police for a resolution to their problems; therefore it was a rarity for the police solving certain types of disappearance cases. She suspected she wouldn't ever understand how an heiress as cultured and exceptionally beautiful as Simone could willingly get in such serious troubles, seeking the company of a delinquent nut cases such as Errol Sparks' genre. The young woman could have anything she could ever want, and yet. All her money could not save her from being seduced and held for months by a bunch of criminals. Not even the social prestige spared such a wealthy philanthropist as Helmut Volker from losing his one child to a pervert.  
  
At least this time, she was able to help. The memory of the delicate face of Miss Pham, scarred with ugly violet bruises, her eyes filling with tears as her uncles hugged her, provided her with a sweet sense of comfort.  
  
Her mother always sustained that beauty for a woman could be a curse as easily as it could be a blessing, especially if supported by brains too. Nikita would have believed her, if not for her experience in the psychology field, for the attractiveness of her fine features had survived the hardness of decades without losing their grace. Madeline Wolfe she was sure, would NEVER age.  
  
The sudden awareness of being stared at by man not far from her breached her consciences, gratifying her only partially.  
  
Given her absorbing work and her indefinable relationship with her partner, she had not the time or the energies to invest in any stable dating.  
  
Last time Nikita had seriously dated someone was right after she had bid Egram goodbye, and Belinda and Walter shamelessly attempted to hook her up with their son. They had with out a doubt succeeded: She and Marco for what she could remember had been a wonderful couple. He made her see what she was missing in her previous affair treating her like a princess. They were similar and different enough to have fun together and set off fire works in the bedroom. Perhaps if his company had been less loving and pleasant, and if his family hadn't been so ready to " adopt" her she wouldn't have felt compelled to break it off with him.  
  
She just wasn't ready for what he was offering her. God. he even served her breakfast in bed.  
  
The dazed memory of Marco's smile and kisses hit her suddenly, forcing her to consider that she was very much alone. Although, her job and other pre- occupations had helped her hide the truth from herself.  
  
Careful about not doing anything that could be interpreted as encouragement, Nikita pretended to casually cock her head to the side, giving a curious glance at the man looking at her.  
  
What she saw left her pleasantly surprised; the guy in question was a tall fair-haired man. Handsome, not in the cleanly sensual way Michael was, but more like the classical "boy next door".  
  
He looked almost out of place, as if he didn't know what he was doing here. But he looked at her as if her presence was enough of a reason to stay.  
  
Or maybe it was her sexually and emotionally deprived imagination speaking.  
  
Nikita saw him smile at her tentatively, noticing that she had unintentionally started to stare back at him.  
  
She smiled at him in return, thinking that he had a nice smile; she hadn't flirted with anyone in ages.  
  
He lowered his eyes and the next thing she knew, he was beside her.  
  
" Hey"  
  
The stranger saluted her, managing a sheepish grin that didn't quite hide the general impression of the uncertainty of his move.  
  
Feeling a desire to provoke born out of her earlier irritation, Nikita glided her eyes up and down his lean figure, then paused on his seemingly embarrassed hazel eyes.  
  
" Hey" Nikita replied trying to sound indifferent.  
  
Rather than being discouraged by her approach, the stranger looked relieved, although not completely comfortable enough to grace her with a second step toward a friendly conversation.  
  
" So.Do you think I could buy you a drink?"  
  
He took a long breath, clearly aware of her amusement at his hesitant inquiry, because he laughed a hollow and short laugh and then added. " I'm sorry I bothered you. I swear I'm not a stalker or anything. I'm sorry.I guess I'm just really out of practice at this sort of thing".  
  
For one second he looked like he was reluctantly going to go away.  
  
It surprised Nikita that the idea of him leaving was disappointing for her.  
  
"Okay" she suddenly said, once again surprising herself.  
  
Her acquiescence stopped him, and he came back to her side, a little surprised himself at how his wish of having her stop him was suddenly realized.  
  
"Okay" he repeated a little breathless, and then as if suddenly he had just remembered it. " By the way, I'm Gray Wellman".  
  
Shaking his outstretched hand, Nikita replied with what she hoped was a dazzling smile:  
  
" Nikita Wolfe".  
  
* * * * * * * * * 


	5. Chapter 4 : desappointments and disillus...

* * * * * * * * *  
  
Gray sat beside her, so close that his arm was now touching hers. He bought her a drink, as he had promised, they sipped their drinks quietly studying each other.  
  
She watched him swallowing his drink and wasn't quick enough to stop herself from comparing him to Michael, and of course finding him somewhat lacking, although they had hardly exchanged more than a few words. For the only real reason was that Gray wasn't Michael. But he looked like a good man, and plainly not someone who ran around chasing every skirt he saw. Someone she might even enjoy knowing.  
  
'' So Gray, are you from there? ''  
  
'' Oh God no. Nobody comes from The Big Apple '' He replied '' I hate big cities. It's all the same little apartments and way too chaotic. I'm here to follow a project for a friend. I'm an architect.''  
  
He said last word with the same amount of pride that Bush might have used to tell to his family that he was just elected President. Gray must really love what he did for living, and it showed.  
  
Nikita liked passion in a man. It was part of why she was fallen so hard for Michael: He needed to do what he did best, and nothing could stop him.  
  
She wasn't really surprised to see Michael's face sneaking into her thoughts again, even if she wasn't pleased; actually, she was beginning to think that she would never rid him from her mind even if her life depended on it.  
  
A sweetly painful habit that she wasn't ready to break. It unnerved her as few things could.  
  
Gray talked and talked about his great passion for buildings and church's, seemingly unaware that she was completely unable to follow the very one sided conversation, and not because she didn't want to or didn't try.  
  
Simply, her mind was so tired of everything that her thoughts refused to be properly channeled, and continued to drift on other subjects, namely Michael.  
  
At the same time, she was so tense that sleep would elude her showing no mercy, even if all she craved were the comfort of her bed.  
  
But it wasn't her bed that she needed. She needed contact. With something, or someone.  
  
Nikita looked at Gray Wellman knowing all too well that what she wanted from him wasn't listening his small talk.  
  
'' I love this song, would you like to dance? ''  
  
She asked him, playing casually with a strand of her pale blonde mane, touching him lightly on his arm with her elbow.  
  
She didn't really know the song, but it was almost slow and she wanted to dance. She hadn't danced in such long time.  
  
In response, he smiled shyly and passed his hand through his spiky hair as he assured her that he wasn't a good dancer, but he'd love it, if she was willing to take the risk of having her feet slowly massacred.  
  
'' I'll take the risk. '' - She told him, thinking not for the first time that she genuinely would liked to get to know him better.  
  
He led her on the dance floor, their bodies' coming in contact was awkward at first, but it was well hidden in the frenzied rhythm of the music. When Gray took her in his arms, Nikita didn't refuse him.  
  
In fact, the quick traveling of his hands along her back was exactly the attention that she needed.  
  
Dancing, her body moved away from his and came close again. Then, suddenly, the touch of the Gray's hands became less shy, more extensive and lingering.  
  
He kept her closer than she was actually comfortable with, but she didn't protest.  
  
It was just when Gray started to kiss her collarbone and neck, that she noticed they had stopped dancing, and was still in a corner.  
  
It occurred her that she had drunk two or three drinks more than she usually did, and much stronger drinks then she was used to.  
  
And judging from the smell of his panting breath on her mouth, her new friend had done the same.  
  
Gray kissed her hard, and it was a good kiss, which she only half participated in.  
  
Nikita had never believed in cold kisses, but this was it: a good, cold kiss.  
  
Just as unexpectedly as it began, it was over, along with his patronizing caresses.  
  
Gray pushed her away from him, as if he had came to his senses in that exact moment, and slowly touched his lips with his fingertips, almost as if he could not believe what he had just done.  
  
" I'm sorry, but I can't do this. '' - he told her with evident agitation in his voice, the plain features of his face very upset, almost panicked.  
  
At her disbelieving expression, he hurriedly shoved his hand in his pants pocket, and took out from it a small, shiny item.  
  
'' I'm a married man '' - he added showing her a golden ring perfectly distinguishable as a wedding band even in the half-light.  
  
Nikita looked at the ring, then looked back at Gray and, finding herself at a lose of witty or sarcastic comebacks for one of the few times in her life, and finding the situation definitely too absurd for words, did the alone thing that made sense for her to do.  
  
She drew her hand back and slapped Gray, with a whack so powerful that his head snapped back.  
  
Then, without a word, she turned her back on him and, taking with her the last shreds of her mortified dignity, went proudly in search of the ladies room. 


	6. Chapter 5 : Bitter realization

Chapter 5  
  
Nikita splashed cold water on her flushed face several times before she felt even close to her normal self. After turning off the tap, she focused on concentrating all her anger into one sphere and compress it until it was reduced to the tinniest ball.  
  
But no trick could erase the sensation of dirt on her skin. She could not believe a married man had just felt her up, and that he had the nerve to treat her like whore. Even worse, in her misery over Michael, she set herself up to be treated like whore, she let him do it, trying in vain to rid herself of her sorrowful mood.  
  
This wasn't her! This wasn't her at all. She did not do one-night stands. And she never had sex for sake of improving her mood or to forget her troubles.  
  
Alcohol and depression were a very dangerous mix- Nikita said herself as she quizzically examined the haunted gaze in the bloodshot eyes that disbelievingly stared back at her in the mirror of the ladies room.  
  
Leaving the bathroom, she felt the loud music pulsing in her ears and irritating the sudden throbbing in her head. A nasty reminder of tonight's brilliant display of stupidity.  
  
It made her want to drink another glass of something, * anything * just to silence the nagging thoughts of what she had done. But then drinking is what had gotten her into this in the first place.  
  
God, she hoped that slap stung for a week and left a handprint on Grey's cheek.  
  
It was no use wishing she had stayed home, even if that meant watching late night reruns of Ally McBeal and falling asleep on her couch, anything would have been better then this nightmare of an evening. Carefully making her way outside, Nikita carefully scanned the area, relieved to find that the fair- haired jerk had not followed her. She quickly disregarded her initial intention to hang around until Walter or his wife showed up. She just wanted to get home as quickly as she could and try to put this nightmare behind her. One good night of sleep would hopefully help her put this unfortunate night behind her. The only thing she was certain of was that she would NEVER again drink to forget her sorrows.  
  
Nikita found Birkoff and Ginger right where she left them. A dark haired boy whose arm was draped around a girl with bright short pink hair and way too many body piercing had joined them.  
  
His pervious embarrassment forgotten, Birkoff looked genuinely jolly and wide-awake. She felt very guilty for interrupting one of his too brief outings into the real world that he conceded for himself.  
  
It was easy forgetting how young Seymour Birkoff was. The only real image she had of him was sitting at his lap- top, day by day with the same intense concentration working to all hours. What reason could he possibly have to deny his youth, what could have caused him to have such a cynical façade? This was how he ought to be spending his free weekends: having fun with friends rather then being glued to a computer with tons of files eating Oreos in too small an office.  
  
She approached, deliberately slowing her pace so he wouldn't notice her distress, and quickly explained that she was too tired to stay. Birkoff reacted admirably for someone who had been dragged against his will to an environment he normally disliked but had just started to have fun in and was suddenly told to leave.  
  
The pink haired girl cut Nikita's impending retort off with a hoarse, deeply musical voice that nobody would have expected from someone so petite. Temporarily disentangling her thin arms from her boyfriend's intimate embrace she dismissed Birkoff's concern in a spontaneous gesture.  
  
" This is not a problem Detective Boy, Darwin there, - she gestured for Nikita's benefit at the dark haired boy behind her,- has his car. If you feely lucky enough to brave his driving, we will give you a lift. ''  
  
Seemingly offended by his girlfriends comment on his driving Darwin felt a need to defend himself. " Don't listen to her, my driving is perfectly fine " he grumbled, once again enfolding the girls tiny figure in his arms, looking so very tall in comparison. " The offer still stands, we'll drop you home".  
  
Promptly smothering Birkoff's shy refusal, Nikita intervened smacking him on his nose with her car keys. " No need, you can take my car. Return it tomorrow morning - without any damage please." Emphasizing the last part. "I'll take a cab. Don't even think about refusing me. I owe you for dragging you here at this hour."  
  
Thanking God, her young cyber geek required no other persuasion, all too happy to continue to enjoy Gingers shameless flirting. Nikita found no need admitting she had drank too much to safely drive and she also was relieved that no on took notice of her current state.  
  
Once outside, the cold air of the night seemed to encourage the fumes of alcohol and dull her mind. So much so the simple operation of calling a cab was for Nikita disbelievingly exhausting. And once finally getting a cab she had to concentrate in order to tell the driver her address.  
  
During her drive home, the reality of returning to her apartment filled her with an anguish she had no real reason to explain. She failed to get a grip on the sadness or the loneliness filling her heart.  
  
Suddenly painful images of Michael, laughing with and making love to Lisa filled her mind. She imagined him basking in anticipation that same night, just before calling his old friend Nikita to cancel dinner with her. A dinner she had wanted to share with him so bad that she could still taste the disappointment she had felt when he called her and said he wouldn't come. If she had been less proud, she would have cried, but instead she bottled it all up and those emotions exploded out of her in the worst way.  
  
Michael didn't care, and this after all was at the heart of the matter.her heart.  
  
She would just have to learn to deal with it.  
  
"Figures" she mumbled to herself as her anger flared up, once again overcome by a sad numbness. " This is what happens to you when you stand and watch him stomp on your heart with out so much as a second glance and then forgive him as if it were nothing".  
  
Before her door, Nikita hesitated to move and stared blankly ahead. Cheap was the only word to describe how she felt at that exact moment.  
  
After a short annoying battle with her keys, (which were annoyingly rebellious in her numb fingers) she entered her dark apartment, heavily closing the door behind her; she leaned against the hard and cool wood. In the nocturne stillness, some extraneous feeling alerted her senses as the lights were suddenly turned on.  
  
Nikita Wolfe blinked twice, needing to get used to the change of lighting and met the irritated gray-green gaze of the source of all her problems. 


	7. Chapter 6 : Surprises

|"Where have you been?" | | | | | |For a split second she refused to| | |believe that Michael was really | | |here, in her apartment looking | | |quietly comfortable on her couch,| | |annoyance and irritation very | | |evident in his tone as he asked | | |her a question he had no right to| | |ask. | | | | | |His hair was ruffled, his white | | |shirt was partly unbuttoned and | | |his black tie was loose and to | | |the side, leaving exposed a very | | |delicious view of the strong | | |column of his neck and good | | |expanse of his muscular chest. | | | | | |The entire picture he presented | | |was enough to make her go weak in| | |the knees with unwanted desire.("| | |geez girl would you get a grip").| | | | | | | | |He wouldn't have the balls to | | |wait up for her as if she were | | |some immature teenager worrying | | |her parents because she broke | | |curfew.or would he? | | | | | |But of-course he would, this was | | |his style: She had his keys like | | |he had hers, but only he used | | |them, entering her apartment when| | |she ran late for their lunch | | |dates. Surprising her with the | | |table ready, and the kitchen | | |smelling of the most delicious | | |aromas. It was she who never took| | |the chance to know his apartment | | |as he knew hers. | | | | | |"So?". " Where were you?" | | | | | |He asked once again, showing | | |patience and feeling a bit | | |unnerved that she was just | | |standing there staring at him | | |with out any attempt to satisfy | | |his curiosity. | | | | | |Purposefully ignoring his | | |question Nikita shook her head in| | |exasperation and slowly moved | | |away from her door. | | |She shrugged out of her jacket | | |and let it fall carelessly to the| | |floor, knowing the action would | | |irritate him. Since the day she | | |met him, he proved himself to be | | |a neat freak, wanting everything | | |to be in its proper order. She | | |smiled to herself, knowing how he| | |disapproved of these little | | |habits of hers. It fueled in her | | |and intense desire to try and | | |hurt him as much as he hurt her, | | |and impossibility of the | | |realization of this juvenile wish| | |caused a lump in her throat and a| | |terrible sadness deep down in her| | |heart. | | | | | |" What the HELL are you doing | | |here Michael? I thought you had a| | |date". | | | | | |Nikita strode forward, again with| | |a slowness that was grating on | | |her own nerves. Heading straight | | |to the kitchen, she found herself| | |in front of the refrigerator | | |sooner then she expected. Her | | |head felt both heavy and light at| | |the same time, a very strange | | |feeling. Her thoughts continued | | |to stumble one across the other | | |even before she could fully | | |complete them. It gave her a | | |general feeling of vulnerability | | |and another feeling, this one | | |more familiar.recklessness. | | | | | |" Never assume anything Nikita". | | |He chuckled, looking very amused | | |with himself. "The little vixen | | |was trying to get back at her | | |fiancée. I couldn't get free of | | |her whining soon enough. But I do| | |have to hand it to her, she is | | |one of a kind." | | | | | |Wanting to smack that smug look | | |off his face, she turned and | | |opened the refrigerator and | | |grabbed the half full carton of | | |milk. | | |Knowing yet another of her habits| | |that he found unhealthy at best, | | |she drank straight from the | | |cartoon, very pleased that he had| | |a good view of her from his | | |position on the couch even with | | |her back to him. | | | | | |"Poor baby, are you disappointed | | |that you didn't get laid?" | | | | | |She didn't bother to keep the | | |sarcasm out of her voice, not | | |caring what he would think. She | | |wandered from the kitchen to the | | |living room while still drinking | | |from the milk carton, hoping that| | |the milk would some how help her | | |fight the lingering effects of | | |the alcohol still in her system. | | |Although at the moment, the | | |alcohol was not her biggest | | |preoccupation. | | | | | |If Michael perceived the | | |restlessness behind her acidity, | | |he made a point to ignore it | | |because he resumed talking as if | | |she hadn't spoken in the first | | |place. | | | | | |"Right after I left I bought | | |Chinese for two and came straight| | |here, but you didn't answer the | | |door. So I used my key" | | | | | |" And you made yourself very | | |comfortable!" Nikita giggled, | | |giddy in her misery. | | | | | |She was straight in front of his | | |sitting form and his eyes | | |inspected every inch of her | | |figure, finding her irresistibly | | |beautiful. | | |Her endless legs silhouetted by | | |her so tight black jeans, the | | |delicious curves not quite veiled| | |by her chemise. That heart shaped| | |mouth curled in a tremulous cocky| | |grin and those large blue eyes | | |that were so full of fire and | | |spirit: it was all absolute | | |perfection for him. | | |The first time he met Nikita he | | |had been enthralled with her | | |beauty. But he was totally | | |convinced that she was seriously | | |screwed up with all her talk of | | |visions and paranormal | | |perceptions, and that alone kept | | |him from acting on his attraction| | |to her. Later, when he was forced| | |to admit that there was a basis | | |for truth to her claims, he | | |became fascinated by all the | | |seemingly crazy ideas she came up| | |with. Their friendship had kept | | |him from trying to get physical | | |with her and he had no reason to | | |regret his lost chance because | | |Nikita had become the only true | | |intimate human relationship in | | |his entire adult life. | | | | | |Although his companions were | | |usually her exact opposite, he | | |never got enough of looking at | | |her, admiring a beauty in her | | |that was so much more than just | | |external. | | | | | |Whether she knew it or not, | | |Nikita would forever be his | | |secret ideal of feminine beauty, | | |a unique blend of inborn | | |sensuality, natural innocence, | | |tomboyish charm and a tender | | |heart. | | | | | |Michael once again looked at | | |Nikita, watching her sipping from| | |her carton of milk and then | | |licking away the little milk | | |mustache, the unconscious action | | |making her look both childlike | | |and sexy as hell. For the first | | |time he noticed she looked tipsy | | |and he finally pieced together | | |all the elements of her peculiar | | |behavior. | | | | | |" You have been drinking". He | | |stated, both curious and | | |concerned. It wasn't like her. | | | | | |" So? I'm an adult ." She | | |replied, offended by his scolding| | |tone sitting down on the cool | | |floor and crossing her legs | | |Indian style. Scowling at him she| | |abandoned the empty milk carton | | |on the floor and crossing her | | |arms with a determined look she | | |asked the question that was | | |burning on her mind since she | | |found him on her couch. | | | | | |" Why were you waiting for me | | |anyway?" | | | | | |Only the slight widening of his | | |eyes gave away his surprise and | | |aggravation at her question. | | | | | |"I don't know. I suppose I had | | |nothing better to do. Unlike you.| | |Well, are going to tell me where | | |you were?" | | | | | |When he entered her home, Michael| | |was sure that she would return | | |shortly and was rather pissed off| | |when she didn't come home and | | |with each passing hour he got | | |more pissed off. He couldn't | | |explain what had caused him to | | |wait except the curiosity of | | |wanting to know how late she | | |would be out.and the nagging | | |irritation of wanting to know if | | |she would return alone. His | | |behavior was not exactly proper | | |but he liked to think their | | |friendship went beyond it after | | |all the dangerous situations they| | |had gotten through together. And | | |after all, he was just looking | | |out for his best friends well | | |being. Or so he kept telling | | |himself. | | | | | |Much to his annoyance, Nikita | | |giggled again. | |  
  
*******************************  
  
Now guys, if you are so good as I think you are. you should understand what scene from Season 1 inspired this chapter ! Go with the guesses ! 


	8. Chapter 7: anger and alcool

Signs of Permanence CHAPTER 7  
  
'' My! Curious, aren't you? '' She humored him, mustering a smug smirk, he leaned his chin on the back of his hand, cracking a malicious half-smile:  
  
'' Why are you avoiding answering my question? ''  
  
Nikita struggled to suppress the surge of shame that his interrogation caused, trying not to remember feeling it; she looked at him with a renewed spirit of challenge.  
  
She pushed her upper body toward him, her elbows resting on her bended knees, feeling once again cocky to the point of recklessness; spoke to him with a fake conspiratorial accent:  
  
''It appears that Birky and I were luckier than you, tonight ''  
  
"Nikita? Birky?. Birkoff !!??" * Michael absorbed her admission losing any trace of bemused malice and replacing that look with one of worried concentration. It was the stony expression he assumed often when he was focusing on a very hard case, and it would scare anyone who didn't know him as well as she did.  
  
'' What do you mean by you and Birky?"  
  
He inquired with the quietly imperious tone he used during the interrogation of a witness, and the coolness of his gaze almost iced the laughter boiling up in her throat. But not quite. It was impossible for her to tear her eyes away from his; sometimes she felt magnetism so primal when he looked her straight in her eyes that she often wondered if he didn't feel it to.  
  
'' Gee, relax. It's not what you're thinking! ''  
  
Nikita chuckled, a sound that was for Michael as familiar and comforting as much as it was irritating him at the moment, she continued her explanation, careful to maintain her deceivingly light tone:  
  
'' I asked Birkoff- she erupted in giggles again -No, actually I kind of forced him, to escort me to Volare's to see how Walter and his family were doing, but they weren't there. So I hooked him up with a nice girl, and found some company for myself. ''  
  
She looked at Michael only to find his face completely devoid of any emotional response, except for maybe a faint curiosity, she felt a strong impulse to push his limits, to find out how much interest she could squeeze out of him, despite her awareness that he didn't care for her in any romantic way.  
  
It was because of this impulse she went on, for once uncaring that her behavior might disappoint him or make him think less of her, but she was eager to wipe that indifferent look off his face.  
  
'' To tell you the truth, I was probably pretty close to getting lucky, but my boy suddenly remembered he had a wife waiting for him somewhere in Buffalo. ''  
  
Nikita and Michael were very close to each other, and although she was on the floor and he was on the couch, they were able to see each the other's reactions better than both would have liked. Neither one able to decipher what the other was thinking.  
  
Michael's distant look forced Nikita to break the silence that threatened to fall between them, Nikita knowing only too well how long he was able to stay silent and how little she would be able to bear if he continued to just stare at her blankly without uttering another word.  
  
'' Don't know why I let him come on to me. I,. he didn't have ring on his finger, how was I supposed to know? It's not like I was dressed like tramp or even wanted him all over me. ''  
  
Nikita trailed off, her voice breaking, while trying to contain the unforeseen quivering of her little determined chin as she subconsciously worried her bottom lip with her teeth. She didn't notice that her eyes were glossy, or that her hands were closed in tight fists.  
  
It wasn't lost on her, the sudden shift in his expression, her listener's beautiful foam sea green eyes changing from indifferent to concern.  
  
'' He didn't hurt you, did he? ''  
  
Michael asked, reaching out to grab a golden strand that fallen over her face, tenderly brushing it behind her earlobe.  
  
''No. I'm all right ''  
  
His fingers lingered longer than necessary in her hair, offering a caress that made her tremble inside.  
  
She liked that he felt so protective of her. It was surprising how openly caring he could be sometimes and so tactless at others.  
  
'' He made you drink too much? I could." His tone became angry again.  
  
'' He didn't make me do anything that I wasn't more than willing to do, Michael. Take it easy. ''  
  
She angrily interrupted his outraged rant before he could continue.  
  
Nikita flinched away from his touch, unnerved at his fierce look and then thrilled by the contained rage in his voice.  
  
'' This isn't like you ''  
  
The notion of her being capable of going out and getting drunk and then giving her body to some unknown idiot disturbed him so much that he didn't want to believe it. He found himself jealous that some strange man could touch her in ways he couldn't allow himself to.  
  
Her voice interrupted his silent musing.  
  
'' No, you are right, it isn't me, sleeping around is more your style. But hey, who knows, maybe you are rubbing off on me ''  
  
It was a low blow saying such ugly things to him, she was aware of it, but anger was better than pain any day of the week. Moreover, if the only way to get to him was arguing, she was quite ready to make the sacrifice.  
  
Seeing the anger reflected on his handsome features made her feel alive.  
  
  
  
'' Now shut up Nikita, that was uncalled for! ''  
  
'' Why, Michael you never shut up. I'm not some quivering virgin! Stop treating me like one! ''  
  
'' I was only worrying about you, damnitt ! ''  
  
Nikita winced visibly at this one. Michael didn't swear. Ever.  
  
That one word hit her like slap in the face.  
  
'' I don't need or want your worry. What I want is some respect! ''  
  
She muttered angrily.  
  
'' Jesus, now what are you blabbering about? I do respect you! ''  
  
'' No, you don't! ''  
  
They were hissing in the each other's face now, nose to nose. Nikita holding on to her rage in an attempt to resist the sudden awareness of his breath on her lips. As long as she continued to she vent at him, she would feel nothing but fury flowing through her veins.  
  
'' If you had an ounce of respect for me, you wouldn't push aside my opinions, or dismiss my theories simply because they rock your little prearranged universe! And you sure as hell wouldn't cancel our dinner plans because you want chase after some air-headed hoochie who calls you at the last minute!  
  
I'm sick and tired of being your .. Your laughable clown! ''  
  
His dark brows knitted in a straight line as Michael fully absorbed her anger; he had fights with her before, and she gave him more explosive vocalizations of her opinionated self, but what upset him was realizing that Nikita seriously believed every word she was saying.  
  
It was so absurd that he couldn't even fathom a decent reply to her nonsense. She was the only one he trusted and it seemed impossible that she didn't know this simple fact.  
  
'' I don't laugh at you. Ever ''  
  
He hoped he could calm her down. She was so tipsy. Michael made a mental note of not taking her out for drinks in the future.  
  
''You are such a liar Michael. Half of the things I believe in is junk to you ''  
  
She bounced back. Her face was flushed and her eyes were now lucid. They reminded him of two lapis lazuli: it was the same beautiful shade of blue.  
  
Then it was as if all the energy flew out of her body, leaving her completely spent. A thousand little fires exploded inside her head, weakening her further.  
  
Michael seemed to notice the change while he watched her uncrossing her legs and sitting on her knees, avoiding his gaze.  
  
'' I'm sorry for canceling dinner, ' Kita''  
  
He couldn't really tell her anything else. Sex had looked like a good way to kill the stress and he jumped at the chance of an easy lay. That was it. He had not meant hurt her feelings.  
  
Nikita hated his ''I'm sorry-routine '' more than anything in this world.  
  
But he sounded so apologetic that she couldn't help but look up at him, although she had a feeling that wasn't such a good idea.  
  
Her tummy flip-flopped when she met his vivid eyes.  
  
She was too close to him, and she forgot how to breath, so close that she could count the pores in his skin.  
  
And he was smiling at her, that little, sexy as hell shy half-smile of his. That devastating half-smile.  
  
Nikita could distinctly smell his shaving cream and the light musk made her dizzy, sending a visceral jolt of pure sensation through her body, setting off all kinds of alarms.  
  
She tore her gaze away from his petal soft, sensuously molded mouth with a growing sense of frustration and longing.  
  
It was unfair of him to be so utterly ravishing.  
  
So powerfully masculine.  
  
How could she stay angry with him, when all her stupid, treacherous body desired was to bury herself in his arms and enjoy the privilege to simply touch and taste that temptingly smooth skin?  
  
Michael was staring her and she felt it.  
  
Of course, she should have answered him. Maybe accept his apology.  
  
Or even refuse it.  
  
Being the object of his concentration caused her to shiver.  
  
'' Ni-ki-ta ? What is wrong? ''  
  
He was still gentle with her, touching her shoulder to lightly shake her. She both hated and loved the way he pronounced her name, unlike any other man ever did. It was like a lover's caress. But they weren't lovers and every time he said her name it was a painful reminder of what she couldn't have but desperately desired.  
  
Damn him for being so gorgeous. If everything about him weren't so sensuously godlike, she would be at least capable of looking at him without having X -rated thoughts.  
  
'' Sometimes, Michael, I really hate you ''  
  
Nikita ranted in an exasperated sigh, then she leaned in and kissed him. 


	9. Chapter 8 : The Kiss

CHAPTER 8  
  
Michael saw her coming on to him with a feeling akin to shock. He saw his colleague, his best friend, his partner in crime for the last five years closing the minimal distance between them and brushing his lips with hers. It was a kiss, light and soft. Too short for him to taste.  
  
It was the strangest situation he had ever been in. Tomorrow morning when her drunkenness wore off, they would probably laugh this off. Or maybe not.  
  
She retreated and stared at him, her breath fanning his face, her forefinger tracing the borders of his mouth.  
  
''Don't treat me like that again. Deal?''  
  
''Deal.''  
  
Even when she was drunk, Nikita was one of a kind, and he had to admire that in her.  
  
She kissed him again, but this time her tongue darted out to follow the fine patterns her finger had previously traced.  
  
Michael found himself unwillingly entranced by her actions, amazed at the feel of the wetness she left on his lips.  
  
He allowed her to kiss him deeply and at her leisure, his lips posing no resistance to her audacious and sinuous exploration of his mouth.  
  
He recognized that Nikita's emotional condition was volatile at best, since she was now kissing him as if there were no tomorrow, after having screamed at him just seconds ago. He knew that if he rejected her attentions and she woke up tomorrow and remembered all the details of this crazy night, she would probably feel humiliated and embarrassed enough to distance herself from him and their friendship. Whereas, if he let her do as she wished, she would probably stop on her own and they could easily put this behind them.  
  
Michael started to kiss Nikita back.  
  
In his mind he did not have much cognition of how it happened, but soon it didn't matter anymore, because Nikita tasted so good, better than he ever could have imagined.  
  
Every slow sweep of her tongue along his summoned a growing, exquisitely carnal response from him, as though they were accustomed to melting in each other.  
  
Every movement of her mouth toward his was balanced by a movement of his mouth toward hers.  
  
He burned for her and of her.  
  
A fog of dark appetite wrapped itself upon his brain, preventing him from registering anything beyond her fumbling movements against his body.  
  
Michael felt the spasms in her fingers as they entwined with the longish, auburn locks of his hair, and his fingers bared the back of her neck of her wild golden mane in answer.  
  
He felt his fingers caressing the nape of her neck, massaging the small spot of bare skin, and trembling from the intensity of that oh so simple physical contact.  
  
He felt, rather than heard, Nikita moaning in the depths of her throat as she continued to kiss him.  
  
He understood that he had to stop, but he couldn't, and the disobedience of his body before this newborn need to touch her scared him as very few things could.  
  
Michael thanked God when the woman in his arms imposed an abrupt but reluctant end to their kiss.  
  
She leaned back and looked at him for a long moment, giving him all the time to dread what she would possibly tell him, and her aquamarine gaze searched his smoke and emerald eyes so intently that he was temped to look away .  
  
Her eyes were glazed over, but Michael couldn't say if it was from passion or from the alcohol.  
  
Strangely, Nikita did nothing but abandon herself to him, laying her head in the crook of his neck as she breathed shakily.  
  
''Michael, Mi-chael,'' she murmured lowly as his heart constricted painfully.  
  
He kept her body tightly anchored to his own, afraid of something he couldn't define nor entirely perceive.  
  
She closed her eyes and he felt her gradually relaxing into him until she went completely still in his embrace.  
  
''Kita?'' he called to her, receiving no kind of answer.  
  
Moving her over, Michael saw that she was soundly asleep. Her quick fall into slumber reminded him that what she had done was only the result of too many drinks in a cheap bar.  
  
Unforgivably stupid of him to forget it.  
  
With a few practical, prudent movements, he swept Nikita up in his arms and proceeded to bring her upstairs to her second-level sleeping alcove.  
  
He took deep breaths, to steady his newfound control of his physical reactions, before going up the stairs and was careful about keeping their body contact as minimal as possible considering the circumstances.  
  
He composed her on the bed, still scared of touching her any more than was necessary, as if the most casual brush of his hand against her skin could awaken feelings he refused to accept. All the same, he gave in to the temptation to smooth errant locks of hair away from her face.  
  
Michael sat for awhile on the bed with her, contemplating every nuance of her face, the rise and fall of her chest with every amazingly regular breath she took in deep sleep.  
  
If he had been familiar with the concept of "love", he would probably have understood that he loved Nikita and that he had loved her for a long time, but unfortunately for both of them, Michael had never known what love was.  
  
A woman of great beauty and sleek grace, Victoria Blake had engaged in a relationship with the surrealist director Jacques Samuelle to cultivate hopes of her ascent as an actress. She often blamed her early pregnancy for the premature end of her career as a model. The role of mother and wife didn't suit her, and the birth of her second son only increased her unwillingness to interpret it. Her abandonment of her family condemned Michael to take care of a workaholic, occasionally alcoholic, father and of his problematic younger brother Mark.  
  
As children of a broken family, Michael and Mark grew up without particularly relying on one another. Instead, they coped with the emotional void that surrounded them on their own and constantly challenged each other.  
  
In their maturity, they were able to consciously seek a more stable relationship, but their father stayed a familiar stranger even after he gave up the bottle.  
  
Michael had never fallen in love. He liked women --- the way they looked, acted, and felt underneath him --- and the women obviously liked him a lot. Rarely was he required to commit to a long courtship of any of his lovers; and although, he by nature was a monogamous man, none of his affairs lasted more than a month.  
  
Like most young men forced into prudence during their childhood and early youth, he had the tendency to strip his adulthood of any kind of responsibility that wasn't work-related.  
  
Women offered themselves to him like towns already conquered and he welcomed them like a general in the time of war.  
  
What Michael thought as he watched over Nikita as she slept was that he couldn't and shouldn't desire her. Because if he did, he would lose something that he was strongly interested in keeping.  
  
Michael rarely made love to a woman on the first or second date. He enjoyed the foreplay and the challenge of the conquest as much he enjoyed the act itself; but after he intimately caressed and possessed a woman, he could acutely feel the loss of the sense of mystery that had attracted him at the very beginning of his pursuit and started to look at her under a different light. None of them had kept his interest long enough to spur him into a serious romance and he couldn't avoid considering them as nothing more than pleasurable interludes. He liked the way Nikita talked to him freely and how freely he could talk to her, the way she surprised him, and the way she fit in his life. Michael still didn't understand what had just taken place downstairs, but he had a compelling desire to forget it before he could fully realize how much he feared the enormity of the passion Nikita stirred up inside him.  
  
Looking at his watch, Michael noticed that it was late and that he was too tired to return to his place. He was sure that Nikita wouldn't mind if he slept on her couch. 


	10. Chapter 9: Memory

CHAPTER 9  
  
Falling asleep on her partner's shoulder, Nikita Wolfe perceived her senses being drawn to the very center of her being by a force older than time. She felt as if she was vacating her material form and yet, drowning within herself.  
  
Familiar shadows were being cast upon her, and she dissolved into them and they, into her, seeming to nourish each other. She felt full, empowered, and unbounded.  
  
Her soul was expanding, but the direction in which it was expanding was a mystery.  
  
She didn't ask herself questions because it was almost as though she knew that she had all the answers.  
  
She floated in an infinite space, clear and clean, immersed in a liquid tangle of incomplete plots.  
  
If she had been capable of fear in the condition she was in, she would have been alarmed by the vague perception of her essence being yanked back to reality.  
  
She was again flesh and blood, but still saw Infinity reflected in the two dark eyes looking back at her.  
  
Two eyes seeing Infinity in hers.  
  
She smelled a thousand earthy scents blending together and recognized the unique scent of the forest. A scent she instinctively knew she loved.  
  
And the grass.she felt it tickling her nude back and heard the murmurs of nature, the calling of a night owl.  
  
There were other sounds too, sounds of coupling, which she heard coming closer and closer.  
  
So close that she realized that she was producing them, at least in part.  
  
There was man over her, chanting the ancient melody with her, claiming her for himself and giving himself to her.  
  
The man was nude too and sweat slid between their bodies as he sweetly, pleasantly rocked against her, seeking in her moist warmth the only home he had ever known.  
  
The man didn't look anything like Michael, but she felt that it couldn't be anyone but him.  
  
No one but him.  
  
He was about to say her name, but before she could hear it or read it on his lips, everything vanished and she was lost and alone in the deepest darkness, aching for the promised land she had just glimpsed.  
  
Then in the darkness a mirror appeared and she went to it, listening to its obscure call.  
  
The woman mirrored there was her but at the same time wasn't her. She was dressed like she was from another epoch, and the hair piled on the top of her head was a dark honey blonde instead of Nikita's almost white locks. She smiled, Nikita Wolfe's smile on her face, and mouthed at her from the mirror:  
  
''There's a time for every purpose.''  
  
The whisper of her alter ego seemed to materialize beyond the mirror and echo a thousand times in the darkness, getting stronger.  
  
Deafening her.  
  
Then Nikita Wolfe awoke to the commanding tone of her alarm clock.  
  
It took her awhile to comprehend that it had been a dream and that this was her true form. It had all seemed so real. She could still smell the forest. The smell had seeped from her dreams. No, it had been more like a psychic perception. The woman in the mirror had been her. In another lifetime.  
  
Her alter ego was trying to show her something.  
  
But if it was so, then something else must have triggered their contact. Nikita tried to recall if she had done anything extraordinary last night.  
  
''Oh, fuck!'' she exclaimed, bringing her hands up to cover her face.  
  
Saying it out loud almost made her feel better.  
  
Last night she had kissed Michael. An act of drunken bravado.  
  
Astonishingly, Michael had kissed her back.  
  
How on earth would she face him today?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**************************** 


	11. Chapter 10: young lovers

CHAPTER 10 The same morning, approximately at the same hour, Seymour Birkoff awoke in a bed that wasn't his. He didn't understand at once where he was, but his current nakedness was a fresh reminder of how he spent the previous night. Covering his chest with the sheets previously tangled about his legs, he looked around and saw that he was alone. There was no trace of the girl who owned the little apartment he had spent the night in, but at least he more or less recognized her bedroom. He was embarrassed, and more than a little ashamed to find that he had been too preoccupied with.other things yesterday to really remember any significant details about the room. Since his clothing seemed to have disappeared along with Ginger, he took advantage of his solitude to assess the place he was in, rather than giving free reign to his discomfort. There were many stuffed animals, thick university textbooks occupied the white writing desk to his right, and right before him was a life-size poster of a relatively famous musical group. ''The Whits'' was written in cubical characters above the image. Standing proudly in the foreground was a statuesque blonde beauty, the lead singer Isabel, and beside her was a blue-eyed guy who happened to be the band's leader. Birkoff used to say that ''The Whits'' sounded more like the squeak of a mouse than the name of a trendy group and whenever he did, Gail would get extremely worked up. She detested it when he teased her about her favorite band. Gail thought that the name was nice and original because it was derived from that of their founder and songwriter, Alex Whitman. Birkoff remembered that she had even dragged him to their concert once, using very. conniving arguments. Yes, The Whits were definitely Gail's favorite group, even if he had always thought that she liked the myth behind them more than their music. She loved listening to all those romantic songs knowing that they were written by Alex to be sung by his wife Isabel. Gail was that kind of person. She saw and loved the melodramatic side of the reality. Birkoff would have favored not thinking about her, especially not when he had just made love with someone else, but he had come to accept that he would think of her often and that the sight of her would continue to hurt him as long as he didn't forgive her. It was difficult, if not impossible, to forget someone you once loved so much and now hated with same intensity. There were moments when he really wanted to forgive her. After all, she had been his first girlfriend, the same girl to whom he'd lost his virginity during a stroll in the park on prom night, the same girl he'd lived together with during the six more adventurous months of his life. Yet every time he would remember how carelessly she had stomped on his dignity, his resolve would weaken and all the good memories would fade from his mind replaced by the banished image of her in their bed with Jason. It was almost a year and a half since Gail left after various failed attempts at reconciliation, but he still had not bought any new furniture. All the pieces Gail had chosen for them had been thrown out the window and now his ''home'' was no less blank than his private life . Her betrayal had left a wound so deep that he no longer had the courage to open up to someone like he had with her. No, he wouldn't risk it again. It wasn't just a matter of trust or hurt pride. Far more than this. If Gail had cheated on him with any other man, he could have dealt with it, and maybe even forgiven her. But Seymour Birkoff was born to a teen mother, who gave up one of her identical twin sons at birth, to be able to keep the other. Growing up, Birkoff had become used to a life of sacrifices and was fine with it. His mother Lisa had worked hard to give him a life as close to normal as she possibly could, without informing him of the existence of his twin, so the young Seymour had considered her his only family. When Jason Crawford had knocked at their door, wanting to know his biological relatives, Seymour believed that he had found a missing link to the mystery of his birth, someone with whom he could share that empty place in his soul that he couldn't fill. And seeing the one he had thought of as the love of his life in postcoital bliss with a man with his face, more money, and all the qualities he ardently desired for himself had broken something inside him. It was as if someone had said to him that he had no right to exist. As if in one single moment all the good things in his life lost their color. Birkoff was so intricately immersed in those thoughts that he almost didn't notice Ginger's return. ''Hi, sleepyhead.'' ''Hi.'' Her arrival made his body tingle in a way he couldn't understand. In spite of his best intentions to remain cool, he couldn't prevent his face from becoming suffused with intense, unmistakably visible heat as he looked at her from the top of her head to her toes. He was naked and Ginger was nicely, *fully*, dressed. She was wearing a long green floral skirt, which reached her ankles, and a matching top. Her blonde hair was in a braid and her smiling face was scrubbed clean of any make up. She looked simply feminine, in contrast with the spicy and restless pursuer she had been at Volare's, but more in tune with his lover last night. Making love with her had been sweet and slow, and thinking of it now made him feel more relaxed. ''I went out to get you a croissant.'' She handed him a packet and Birkoff was careful to touch the envelope anywhere but where her fingers were. The maneuver was lost on Ginger, because even she was blushing a deep crimson. ''I don't usually do this. '' she tried to explain. He nodded. ''I don't usually eat croissants either.'' Ginger giggled and Birkoff's eyes became bigger. ''No, I meant I don't.have sex with someone I just met.'' Birkoff almost choked on his mouthful, but managed to assure her that these weren't his parameters for normalcy neither. For two eternal minutes, the young, one-time lovers just stared at each other and then broke into infectious laughter, which revealed their mutual ignorance of the attitude to be assumed. Later, Birkoff would ask what time it was and Ginger's answer would bring an abrupt end to their conversation. It appeared that Mr Birkoff should have already been on his way to the Agency. Ginger had the grace to blush and turn away as she gave him the clothing she had gathered from the floor, folded, and placed in one of her drawers just after she had gotten up; but she managed a good attempt at acting nonchalant as she asked him out to lunch. ''Today, I can't. It's a tough day. Why don't come up for a visit tomorrow?'' It came as the boy's off-the-cuff answer. Birkoff didn't concern himself with stopping to think about why he was so ready to postpone the date. Anaesthetizing his subconscious mind with thoughts of work was an alternative decidedly more appealing. The last thing he needed was to get Michael irritated with him for some banal delay. Little did he know that he wasn't the only one at Samuelle Investigations to come in late that morning 


	12. Chapter 11: Confrontation adding a lot

Happy Christmas to everyone! Thank for undying devotion to this story! I promise it isn't gone unnoticed and that a new chapter will be there for the New Year ( I will wait only until I receive 3-4 reviews, I think) Hugs Sky Samuelle  
  
|Chapter 11 | | | |After her unusual nocturnal activities, Nikita found relief from her | |persisting disorientation under a cold shower. Unfortunately, while the | |cold water did wake her up completely, it also forced her to deal with the | |more tedious consequences of her hangover. She felt terrible and was firmly| |convinced that she looked even worse. | | | |For all these reasons, she was hardly happy to find Michael making coffee | |and eggs in her kitchen. He was wearing the shirt he had left in her home | |two months ago when she'd offered to wash it for him and the black pants | |he'd worn the day before. | | | |Just the smell of food was enough to make her stomach turn and it wasn't | |because of nausea. Despite what felt like an ongoing bombardment taking | |place inside her head, she was almost hungry. | | | |No, the knots in her stomach had little to do with a lack of appetite and | |everything to do with the man cooking. | | | |She wasn't ready to see him, much less to talk with him. She didn't know | |what to do. | | | |Oh well, he had kissed her back while fully sober and seeing as she had | |been drinking, he should be the one to broach the matter and explain his | |actions if he wanted to discuss it so much. For once, she wouldn't be the | |one to talk out problems. | | | |Playing dumb sat perfectly with her. Moreover, he had no right to enter her| |home whenever he felt like it. | | | |''What are you doing here?'' | | | |Nikita felt that it was awfully redundant to ask, but she doubted that | |there was any use in having scruples when dealing with someone as | |maddeningly insolent as he was. | | | |Nonetheless, she collapsed on her couch with a deliberate effort not to | |glance at him and simply willed herself to figure out why her head was | |threatening to explode at that very moment. | | | |''Good morning to you too, sunshine,'' Michael chuckled, oblivious to her | |displeasure with him and appearing hugely bemused by her dejection. | | | |Being seen by him in such a pitiful state made her feel considerably worse.| |Nikita didn't push the issue, fearing that doing so would require them to | |deal with the matter of the previous night's tumultuous events. | | | |He approached her with a tray containing a mysterious steamy cup. | | | |"How are you?'' | | | |''I have a killer headache. I think I could die,'' she sighed, staring at a| |fixed point above his head. | | | |''Hangovers are a bitch. I've had my share,'' he nodded knowingly. | | | |Perhaps it was merely that French-Canadian accent of his, but the way he | |swore sent a delicious shiver down her spine. There was something | |inexorably tragic about her going into hormonal overload simply by | |listening to him talk, but this time she didn't feel as uncomfortable as | |she usually felt when being reminded of the force of her attraction to him.| |Right now, his eyes held a glint that she had seen somewhere else just a | |little while ago --- in her dream. In the dark eyes of another man. | | | |Michael didn't seem to mind her close observation of him, perhaps | |attributing it to her headache. | | | |''What have you there? '' Nikita inquired pointing at the cup that he had | |made no move to offer her. | | | |Michael shrugged. "A miraculous cure for hangovers. The recipe belongs to | |an old friend from the University. For all the times we made use of it, I | |can assure you that it works. You will be better faster than you can | |imagine if you drink it. '' | | | |''If I drink it.'' | | | |Just as Michael passed the steaming cup near her face, Nikita had the | |chance to sniff the 'brew' and immediately wrinkled her nose, snorting in | |disgust. | | | |''It smells vile.'' | | | |''It tastes worse. But as I said before, it 's extraordinarily effective.''| | | | | |''What is it?'' | | | |''If I told you, I would have to kill you. Now drink.'' He jokingly | |encouraged her. | | | |''I can't believe I'm doing this'' she muttered, taking the steaming cup | |from the tray and taking a tentative sip. | | | |"I would advise you to drink it all at once.'' | | | |Showing courage that even Nikita didn't think she possessed, she gulped | |down the entire cup in one shot while attempting not to taste the horrible | |liquid. | | | |''Pray it works.'' She mumbled, practically feeling her brain painfully | |contract. | | | |''It will. A scalp massage could help too.'' | | | |''Are you volunteering?'' | | | |Nikita tried hard not to squirm, thinking of her scalp being massaged by | |his long fingers with her head resting on his muscular thighs. She didn't | |doubt for one minute his skillfulness, quite the contrary actually. She | |halfheartedly hoped he wasn't offering. | | | |''I'm willing to let you take advantage of my talent.' | | | |Nikita bit her tongue so as not to curse at him since she instantly caught | |the double-entendre. In some way, she suspected he could make the simplest | |line sinful. If she didn't know better, she would think that he was teasing| |her on purpose. | | | |''Considering my devastating suffering, I accept your sacrifice.'' | | | |Nikita dismissed her previous assumption as the fruit of her imagination | |while Michael maneuvered her onto her back, her head lying on his legs, and| |began to massage her temples. Although she felt incredibly tense in finding| |herself in so intimate a position, she maintained her composure and was | |very glad that she was not blushing. | | | |''Relax'' he ordered her, his fingers magically easing her headache with | |their movements. His touch captured her full attention. She closed her | |eyes, half-disappointed and half-relieved that he didn't look at all | |embarrassed at the position they were in. | | | |''How does it feel?'' Michael asked her a few minutes after he had started.| | | | | |''Soooo gooood.'' She purred, but caught herself and said, "I would say it | |works.'' | | | |''Good.'' He smiled, pleased with her response. | | | |''Maybe you should go Michael. At least one of us has to be punctual '' She| |didn't want him to leave so soon but couldn't really make him stay and lose| |time because she was paying her dues for drinking too much. | | | |''If I can't show up fashionably late, what is the advantage in being the | |boss?'' | | | |Michael enjoyed being close to her and, after the bewilderment of last | |night, he couldn't leave her alone, not only because he wanted to help her,| |but because there was still something he needed to tell her. | | | |Nikita giggled, amused by his dry sense of humor. It was nice being with | |her like this. So nice that Michael paused before continuing with what he | |had to say. | | | |''Nikita, do you remember last night?'' | | | |Nikita sighed. She was sure that Michael heard her as it sounded loud to | |her own ears. | | | |''Little bits and pieces. I was really out of it.'' | | | |''Yes. You gave me an incensed lecture about the fine art of respect. | |'' | |''Mmm, I remember that part.'' Nikita closed her eyes, relaxing under the | |caress of his hands. He had slightly roughened fingertips and they felt | |good scraping on her skin. . To be utterly truthful, better than good, more| |along the lines of incredible! | | | |''Did you mean it?'' | | | |''Yes. For the most part. I could have forced my hand since I was tipsy and| |all.'' | | | |''I see.'' | | | |Michael was silent and just when she gave up on his responding, he did. | | | |''Nikita, I trust you. Even when it doesn't appear that I'm listening to | |you, I am. I cannot totally believe inwhat you do, but I believe in you. If| |I didn't, I wouldn't have asked you to be my partner. Don't ever think | |otherwise.'' | | | |''Okay.'' | | | |He was a unique man, able to switch from light-minded to serious in a | |matter of seconds. It left her unsettled but in a pleasant way. | | | |''Michael?'' | | | |''What?'' | | | |''How do you feel about your past lives?'' | | | |''I'm Catholic.'' He sighed, sounding fairly somber and anticipating to | |disagree with her on another absurd subject. | | | |Nikita laughed in that throaty, smoky way she had, the one he could | |identify with only her and got up. | | | |''I do feel better now. Thank you. We better go. You wouldn't want to leave| |Birkoff alone with Corinne Markali, now would you?'' | | | |''No,'' he agreed. | | | |''Birkoff has my car. If you give me five minutes to change, I'll come with| |you.'' | | | |''Fine. I'll wait for you in the car.'' | | | |He pretended to believe that it would be just five minutes, although she | |was the only woman he knew who could be ready in less than that if | |absolutely necessary. | | | |''Nikita?'' He called to her while she was starting up the stairs. '' What | |was it about reincarnation?'' | | | |''Let it alone. I was just teasing you.'' Nikita smiled secretly to herself| |while hurrying upstairs, feeling wholly optimistic about what had gone | |unsaid between them. After all, there was indeed a time for every purpose. | |If Michael wasn't ready for an us just yet, she could wait. He had loved | |her in another life much the same way she loved him now. | | | |She was by nature an impatient person, but for things that truly mattered | |to her such as him, yes she could definitely wait. | | | 


	13. Chapter 12: Playing it safe

Chapter 12  
  
When Seymour Birkoff stepped hurriedly over the Samuelle Investigations threshold, he couldn't decide if he was more relieved or surprised to see the offices empty, except for the discreet presence of their official secretary, Miss Gerard. At last, relief won out over surprise, and the young American computer and technology expert sank in his seat, carelessly smoothing his wrinkled shirt as he tried to remember where he had hidden his private store of Oreos.  
  
It was impossible facing a day, as the one he had ahead, without a constant supply, especially when he needed to come to terms with what he did last night. In a daze, he watched as one of the keys to his desk slowly disappeared from his fingers and began falling. He quickly reached out to grab it before it hit the floor.  
  
''Coffee?''  
  
The sweet melodious voice of the only other occupant startled Birkoff, making him squirm and hit the corner of his desk.  
  
''OUCH!''  
  
''Oh Seymour, are you alright?'' Scratching his shorthaired head, Birkoff frowned instinctively at the use of his first name, which he disliked intensely, as his brown-eyed gaze narrowed on the saccharinely sweet sounding woman. If any other individual had talked him in that tone, he would probably resort to a sarcastic comment, assuming he or she was being phony.  
  
''No'' he answered. If there was one thing absolutely clear to him just like when he had initially met Sarah Gerard, it was the fact she was exactly as she appeared: a young woman who saw the world through rose- tinted glasses and harbored a deep rejection complex. Having blue eyes that were crystal clear, chestnut shoulder-length hair, pale skin and frail, fine features, Sarah could be considered beautiful. It wasn't the oversized, nondescript clothing she habitually wore to keep men away, but rather the bashfulness of her character, the transparency of her fear to live. Sarah was also one of the few beautiful women who wouldn't fall for Michael. Conversely, the reason Michael never made a play for Sarah, even jokingly, went well beyond Michael's unwritten rule that he would not get involved with Nikita's friends or the discretion he usually applied by not mixing business and pleasure. There was an ever-present childlike air about Sarah Gerard, an innocent quality in her desperate need to feel safe and a silent plea to go easy on her in her introverted looks, which made it a natural reaction for her employers to feel protective towards her. Sarah returned their kindness with being dearly devoted to her daily tasks, preparing coffee, arranging appointments with potential clients and answering the telephone, and it gave Birkoff reason to think that this was her whole life. He also thought that leaving her mundane job at the local library to come work with them was the most courageous choice Sarah ever made. But today, Birkoff didn't feel like he could or should look at her with an air of superiority; his life now felt almost as empty, if not more.  
  
''It's nothing. Did Michael call?'' he grumbled. Michael was late. Moreover, Michael always called when he was late even if the cause of his temporary absence was as commonplace as the morning traffic. Meticulous, systematic but yet often unpredictable, Michael Samuelle excelled in anything he did and it showed. His efficiency was etched in the restrained use of gestures and words, and the secret of his success was in his strict pragmatism and his surprisingly detached observation of the things around him. Working with him, straining to keep up with Michael's way of thinking was exhausting yet exhilarating and Birkoff wouldn't exchange his position with anyone else.  
  
''No, at least not yet. ''  
  
Michael hadn't called that morning. In fact, he made his entrance almost twenty minutes later and held the door open for his blond companion, as he acknowledged Sarah's welcoming smile and returned her greeting with a formal verbal welcome.  
  
Sarah immediately sensed the somberness of the couple but chose to ignore it. She had no right to interfere in their business and, as usual with Michael and Nikita things were hardly as they appeared regardless of what any of them thought. Sometimes Sarah wondered if their endless tiptoeing around each other would ever stop. It was extremely rare seeing one without the other, but watching them together never ceased to amaze her: They moved in perfect unison as if they were one.  
  
Nikita looked bothered when she asked Sarah if Mrs. Markali had called to cancel. Apparently her problem, if you could call it that, was so urgent that she couldn't afford the luxury of coming back. But Nikita's worried expression must have not been linked to this, because Sarah's confirmation of the appointment didn't ease the creases around her mouth. In turn, Birkoff was rather curious to notice that Michael was not only strangely unresponsive to his report of required research, but he was also contemplatively watching a sleepy looking Nikita.  
  
This was the uneasy and odd atmosphere that greeted Corinne Markali upon her arrival, although she seemed too distracted to take note of any of it. She was a woman in her 50's, bearing the vestiges of past beauty, consumed too soon by an insecure temperament. It was the classical case of the rich, worried wife who dedicates her life to her husband and is afraid of admitting a potential betrayal on his part. Corinne Markali was adamant in her defense of her marriage and all she demanded was knowing where her husband was when he was supposed to be working and why he looked so on edge and nervous lately. This was a run-of-the mill investigation but one that would help their finances.  
  
Nikita's hangover was still too painful for she could not help becoming increasingly irritated with the woman's uncooperative attitude, while Sarah was moved and Birkoff was looking totally uninterested with what was happening inside Michael's office. Michael, for his part, felt no real emotion or interest regarding the case and was equally determined to resolve it seeing the business potential of being known to the Markali's important friends, if only for solving such a simple mystery. Every one of them was fully committed to meeting their client's request with professional encouragement.  
  
Rolling up their sleeves and getting down to work seemed a good way to escape the uneasiness plaguing the office that morning. Any unresolved questions for Michael, Nikita or Birkoff as to their individual activities of the previous night would have to wait.  
  
Chapter 13  
  
''It's sad really'' Nikita Wolfe said, absently looking out the fifth floor apartment window.  
  
''Quite, but it happens rather frequently." Michael Samuelle answered, his voice echoing as a whisper in the completely empty space around them. It was one of those times when Nikita knew he was replying purely by instinct because his words were said without any emotion. Although he was standing beside her, his total concentration was on the scene he was observing through his binoculars. Or, more specifically, on Nikolai Markali 's office, whose wide window was well viewed from their point of observation. Bless Birkoff and his diligent approach to their work; finding this place had been ingenious rather than lucky.  
  
''In truth, I was talking about us not about Corinne Markali. I thought we were making progress; missing people, kidnappings, lost relatives, threats, stolen valuables to be recovered and now we are back to the basics with nothing better to sink our teeth into.''  
  
Nikita liked looking at Michael when he couldn't turn and see that she was staring at him; it gave her a glimmer of wicked satisfaction for all the times he had caught her doing just that.  
  
''You don't always have to like the job, Nikita. Sometimes you just have to do it.''  
  
Still, he didn't acknowledge her physical presence at his side with any reaction other than looking slightly annoyed at being forced to talk when he was otherwise occupied. His apparent apathy toward her left Nikita feeling deeply dejected without valid reasons. It was as if the kiss she gave him four nights ago in a moment of alcohol-induced weakness never happened. He never mentioned it and she simply pretended that she didn't remember so as not to push the issue. At the beginning she had felt almost victorious, but now she wasn't so sure he had really kissed her back. Maybe she had only imagined or dreamt the whole thing. Who could say? She was not in the habit of ever drinking enough to get tipsy.  
  
Although Nikita hated second-guessing herself, it was becoming shockingly clear that around Michael her confidence seemed to fall like dominoes stacked one behind the other. Her feelings for him were like an earthquake that left no part of her already complicated inner universe intact. In some way, even when she was in a position of advantage like now, Michael succeeded in making her feel like she had been stripped naked in a room full of strangers. The worst part of it was that some days she would just shrug it off, let him do it, but today was not one of those days and nothing could offend her self-esteem more than his treatment of her as if she was a capricious child; however, she took no steps to make him aware of this.  
  
''You should put a flashing neon sign over your head when you aren't in a conversational mood Michael. It would help all of us.''  
  
She saw Michael lift the corners of his mouth for a fraction of a second in response and was rebuffed by his indecisiveness.  
  
''What do you know about the woman?''  
  
''Her name is Eliza Parker and she is an assistant. She hit it off with Markali during her first week there because of a common art interest. She is passionate about politics. Her addition to the staff goes back five months. Wonder of wonders, it coincides with the beginning of the Nikolai Markali disappearing acts.''  
  
''More or less. Birkoff is working on her?''  
  
''Yes. He says he could have something by this afternoon.''  
  
Michael nodded and again became silent. He put down his binoculars and with a fluid movement shrugged off the tension centered in his back. He was doing his best to forget just how much he had desired his partner four nights ago but it was difficult, and this caused him to impose unfamiliar self-restraint on his actions toward her. He had not expected that this decision would sorely limit the spontaneity they shared. On the other hand, if he ignored this new concept to look at her in a different light, things between them would soon return to the way they had been all along. As soon he ceased trying to rationalize why that kiss had been so good, he would then stop with the complex conjectures on why she had kissed him and why he had kissed her back. Truthfully, he needed to just stop thinking about last night!  
  
Michael was about to invite her out for coffee when her cell phone rang, cutting him off and capturing her immediate and complete attention. It always seemed to him as if Nikita's mind was constantly running in new and mysterious directions at a speed that other people could never contemplate.  
  
''Excuse me'' she said in an accent that was gently mocking, and then dismissed him with a smile and brought the phone to her ear. 


	14. cHAPTER 13: Business

Chapter 13  
  
''It's sad really'' Nikita Wolfe said, absently looking out the fifth floor apartment window.  
  
''Quite, but it happens rather frequently." Michael Samuelle answered, his voice echoing as a whisper in the completely empty space around them. It was one of those times when Nikita knew he was replying purely by instinct because his words were said without any emotion. Although he was standing beside her, his total concentration was on the scene he was observing through his binoculars. Or, more specifically, on Nikolai Markali 's office, whose wide window was well viewed from their point of observation. Bless Birkoff and his diligent approach to their work; finding this place had been ingenious rather than lucky.  
  
''In truth, I was talking about us not about Corinne Markali. I thought we were making progress; missing people, kidnappings, lost relatives, threats, stolen valuables to be recovered and now we are back to the basics with nothing better to sink our teeth into.''  
  
Nikita liked looking at Michael when he couldn't turn and see that she was staring at him; it gave her a glimmer of wicked satisfaction for all the times he had caught her doing just that.  
  
''You don't always have to like the job, Nikita. Sometimes you just have to do it.''  
  
Still, he didn't acknowledge her physical presence at his side with any reaction other than looking slightly annoyed at being forced to talk when he was otherwise occupied. His apparent apathy toward her left Nikita feeling deeply dejected without valid reasons. It was as if the kiss she gave him four nights ago in a moment of alcohol-induced weakness never happened. He never mentioned it and she simply pretended that she didn't remember so as not to push the issue. At the beginning she had felt almost victorious, but now she wasn't so sure he had really kissed her back. Maybe she had only imagined or dreamt the whole thing. Who could say? She was not in the habit of ever drinking enough to get tipsy.  
  
Although Nikita hated second-guessing herself, it was becoming shockingly clear that around Michael her confidence seemed to fall like dominoes stacked one behind the other. Her feelings for him were like an earthquake that left no part of her already complicated inner universe intact. In some way, even when she was in a position of advantage like now, Michael succeeded in making her feel like she had been stripped naked in a room full of strangers. The worst part of it was that some days she would just shrug it off, let him do it, but today was not one of those days and nothing could offend her self-esteem more than his treatment of her as if she was a capricious child; however, she took no steps to make him aware of this.  
  
''You should put a flashing neon sign over your head when you aren't in a conversational mood Michael. It would help all of us.''  
  
She saw Michael lift the corners of his mouth for a fraction of a second in response and was rebuffed by his indecisiveness.  
  
''What do you know about the woman?''  
  
''Her name is Eliza Parker and she is an assistant. She hit it off with Markali during her first week there because of a common art interest. She is passionate about politics. Her addition to the staff goes back five months. Wonder of wonders, it coincides with the beginning of the Nikolai Markali disappearing acts.''  
  
''More or less. Birkoff is working on her?''  
  
''Yes. He says he could have something by this afternoon.''  
  
Michael nodded and again became silent. He put down his binoculars and with a fluid movement shrugged off the tension centered in his back. He was doing his best to forget just how much he had desired his partner four nights ago but it was difficult, and this caused him to impose unfamiliar self-restraint on his actions toward her. He had not expected that this decision would sorely limit the spontaneity they shared. On the other hand, if he ignored this new concept to look at her in a different light, things between them would soon return to the way they had been all along. As soon he ceased trying to rationalize why that kiss had been so good, he would then stop with the complex conjectures on why she had kissed him and why he had kissed her back. Truthfully, he needed to just stop thinking about last night!  
  
Michael was about to invite her out for coffee when her cell phone rang, cutting him off and capturing her immediate and complete attention. It always seemed to him as if Nikita's mind was constantly running in new and mysterious directions at a speed that other people could never contemplate.  
  
''Excuse me'' she said in an accent that was gently mocking, and then dismissed him with a smile and brought the phone to her ear. 


	15. Chapter 14:old friends

Chapter 14  
  
Lily Corsini and Nikita Wolfe's friendship was based on a kinship of ideals and interests and a bond strengthened by the sweetest childhood memories. They had met on the first day of school soon after a young Nikita began living with the Wolfe's. Lily's independent nature made her anxious to be liked by the shy new girl in class and her own family, a bunch of stubborn Italians with a proud clan spirit, had been won over by Nikita's cerulean eyes and blond tresses the first time they had done homework together.  
  
They had survived their first crushes together, bought their first lipsticks together and attempted their first part-time jobs at the same establishment. In high school, many heads would turn when they walked side by side, each one posing a striking contrast to the other: Nikita - tall, athletic, her Nordic coloring glamorous and her shapely legs endless while Lily was more delicate, petite, dark with shiny black hair and an aquiline nose enhancing the shape of her almond shaped brown eyes.  
  
There had been no disappointments, as often happens in relationships cultivated through youth, to tarnish the image of those times as anything but innocent and carefree. Even when they had embraced very different lifestyles (Nikita entering the Academy and Lily beginning her career that brought her the coveted role of buyer for Woodies) and had not managed to keep in touch as much as they would have liked, they preserved the ability to share the moment. When Lily had married and moved to the Big Apple with her husband Edward, it had felt as if the sisterly link they had formed while living in Baltimore had never been interrupted. Therefore, it wasn't strange when Nikita had maintained a surprised silence on her friend 's marital infidelity. To be honest, from the very beginning Nikita had considered Lily's behavior completely alien to her character. There had only been one other man prior to Edward and, much to the embarrassment of Lily's traditionalist family, she and Edward had lived together for a year before marrying. Nikita wouldn't have said and didn't know whether or not they burned for each other, but she wasn't really in the habit of judging anybody. Lily's confession had been surreal and far more surprising because it was done with a firm determination to soon put an end to the union Nikita had always believed solid. Yet her friend's joyful expression when she finally spoke about her lover, the look on her face of total joy as she declared their long waiting to be together had finally arrived, had shown Nikita the absolute truth about the situation. In that moment, Lily had looked as if she was another person but, at the same time, the light from inside her was oddly familiar and Nikita had felt it reaching out to her, searching for a recognition she couldn't deny. She had not known if she felt more outraged or honored for being the first to be informed of her friend's love.  
  
Driving home, Nikita felt an undefined apprehension and asked herself why anybody else 's problems should worry her more than her own and exhaled a sigh of relief at the sight of her block coming into view. Once she parked, she moved to her apartment, barely waving to Mrs. Cooper, a tenant who would probably be happy to delay her with some recent gossip about her sister-in-law, and took the elevator to her floor. Her place was at the end of the passage, number 412. In front of her door, Nikita saw a dark-haired woman kneeling down with her arms covering her head.  
  
''Lily" she called, as the clicking of her heels on the floor seemed to alert the other woman of her presence and propel her to get up on her feet.  
  
It wasn't until they were face to face that Nikita realized that the brunette beauty before her had her lip split open and was bleeding. Her eyes opened wide flashing a rebellious surge of wonder and indignation and trying to connect with Lily's two furtive brown orbs.  
  
"Did Edward do this?"  
  
It seemed impossible. Passive, controlled Edward Davis hitting Lily, the wife he adored?  
  
"Nikita, can we go inside please?"  
  
Nikita's hand stopped in midair, as she had been moving to touch the bruised cheek and instead looked for the door keys in her purse. Physical contact wasn't always comforting for someone under pressure.  
  
"Of course."  
  
As they entered and Lily sat on the couch seemingly preoccupied about folding her jacket properly, both women felt slightly uncomfortable with each other. 


	16. Chapter 15: Lily

Chapter 15  
  
''I brought you some ice.'' Nikita said.  
  
''Thank you so much.''  
  
Lily passed the ice over her swollen lip, not quite hiding a grimace of pain and looked at her host not knowing where the conversation would go from this point. She felt tormented, perhaps a little humiliated at being seen in such a state, and began doubting if her impulse to seek refuge here was a helpful or sensible one. The entire event was all so blurred now.  
  
''Do you want talk about it?''  
  
With a powerful jolt, both dread and relief gripped her stomach at the yet expected question. There were so many secrets and so many deceptions in her life lately, and the awareness of finally being completely free to talk honestly about her emotions was a welcome stranger. Nikita was a comforting presence and she knew that a simple 'No' wouldn't be taken as offense. She could be silent but was that what she really wanted?  
  
Lily leaned back, tapping her mouth with the wrapped ice.  
  
''I didn't expect it would be pleasant, but it was much worse than I imagined. I have never seen Edward so angry. It was as if he was... a stranger, so full of... fury. The way he looked at me, it was obvious he loathes me more than any other human being he has ever known. The things he said... he wanted to know all the details, how it happened, where, when... why. He wanted know why the most. What kind of answer could I have given?''  
  
Lily was on the verge of crying again and, pushing aside the sensation of helplessness, Nikita realized that there was really little else she could do except listen. It was difficult for her watching people when they cried. It caused her to feel that their suffering could somehow penetrate her and become a part of her permanently.  
  
''It wasn't a good reason for hitting you Lily."  
  
''I think he was more shocked than I was. He was completely out of control and knew it. He practically pushed me out the door before he started to realize what was happening.''  
  
Lily held her head between her hands looking a lot more tired and spent than Nikita remembered ever having seen her. The end of this marriage would be a tragedy affecting those directly involved and the probable intrusion of her relatives.  
  
''You lied to him for an entire year. It was probably unfair demanding more of him, although this wasn't justified. ''  
  
Nikita allowed a forced smirk to show on her lips; there was no significant amount of understanding between her and Edward Davis, an egocentric and ambitious man in her opinion. However, it didn't prevent her from sympathizing with his anguish because, if nothing else, he did everything in his power to make his consort happy or from admitting he was far from being violent and impulsive. At one time, she had admired and envied the peaceful coexistence that Lily and Edward had with each other and she could not comprehend the shock he must have experienced at learning how his wife had consciously betrayed him for one year, was now running off with this man and was pregnant with his child!  
  
But it wasn't her business and true friends should accept the other's faults. Appreciating only the good points makes anybody useful and not a real friend. Besides, Lily already looked upset enough on her own, Nikita mused looking at her friend nervously running her fingers through her raven hair.  
  
''It's not that. In Edward's eyes what Orson and I did was a criminal act against his good faith, and I wanted to explain to him that it wasn't like that but there was no way he would listen. I fell in love with Orson, I would die for him and we will have a baby conceived from this love. I don't know how such happiness could be born out of such pain. We always justified ourselves saying it was inevitable but now I wonder if we had the right to do what we did.''  
  
''I don't believe there is anything you can do for Edward now except give him the time he needs to heal. You can't change the past, can you?''  
  
Nikita took Lily's hand and shook it like they had done when they were very young and one saw the other crying.  
  
Lily gave a sad and tender smile. ''I'm sorry I involved you in this debacle. I was so wrapped up in myself that I didn't consider the trouble I could cause other people. It wasn't meant to become your problem.''  
  
''Leave it alone. We can always blame it on hormones, right?'' Nikita gave a wave with her hand and her impish grin squeezed a chuckle out of Lily. "Right?"  
  
"Thank you; jokes and crying aside.''  
  
Nikita dismissed the thanks and persuaded her to lie down while she cooked lunch because ''the early stage of pregnancy is delicate and she had every intention of grabbing something to eat before returning to work anyway.''  
  
It felt good puttering in the kitchen with Lily resting on the couch while her ugly and often absent red cat, Spike, wandered curiously between her legs. She liked the familiarity present in cooking for someone, more so because her work kept her out of her home a lot. It took her back to when her mother was teaching and her father sat at the table reading his newspaper and wrinkling his nose.  
  
While they ate, Lily said she was meeting Orson tomorrow and added that he was leaving the home where he lived with his wife and son and would move in with Lily the same day. They would take up residence in what had been their hideout for their clandestine trysts.  
  
Nikita mostly listened.  
  
After lunch, they parted with a hug. Nikita was content that Lily looked better than she did earlier, and her drive back felt different than her drive home. Lily and her were the same age, however, Lily was divorcing her husband, moving in with and carrying her lover's child, a man whom, according to her "she would die for". When she was younger and thought about her future, Nikita had vividly imagined that she would be swept off her feet by a wonderful man and would live in a beautiful house like the one where she grew up: a place safe and warm, a place to call ''home''. Wasn't that every woman's dream, feminist or not? She didn't regret any of the choices she had made; she considered her life rather successful: In her profession she traveled a lot and got to see some interesting places. She liked her lifestyle, being so completely absorbed in the case at hand that she could 'feel' her brain feverishly searching for all the right connections, the teamwork, the adrenaline pulsating through her veins. She loved her job and was proud of being damn good at it. She loved New York, although she wasn't born there, because it was the city that didn't sleep, because it was turbulent and gigantic, the capital of the American dream. What was it they said? If you can make it there you can make it anywhere -- and she had made it!  
  
Had she ever been ready and willing to die for a man?  
  
The answer was no, and it wasn't difficult to arrive at this answer. Nikita was a firm believer that nobody could invent happiness for her that wasn't there. People were born alone and died alone with the choices they made. If they were lucky, there would be someone to share the journey.  
  
It hadn't been like that with Egram, and she had instinctively known this because not once had she ever imagined sharing her entire life with him. Never once had he figured as a permanent element in her mind. The more elusive he was, the more she wanted to please him, the more gratified she was by his ministrations when he came back to her. Their affair had been highly physical, the circumstances leaving time for little else and the constant shift of the balance of power between them had been like a drug.  
  
She wouldn't die for Egram, even when she saw him as the one human being on earth who could possibly love her like she wanted to be loved. It was information she filed away for future reference, as she put her foot inside the door of the Samuelle Investigations offices.  
  
They occupied an entire floor in a respectable building. When they took possession of the space, there had been a lot of restoration work to do, but it had been worth all the time and energy. Every single spot in the office was now as dear to Nikita as her apartment and not only because she spent most of her waking time there. 


	17. Chapter 16:dirty work

Chapter 16  
  
The first thing she saw was exactly what she had expected: Seymour Birkhoff hunched over his laptop. His lack of response at her entrance indicated that he had not finished his research. Nikita saluted him while hanging her coat at the entrance.  
  
''Hello B.''  
  
''Mmmm. You're early ''  
  
Knowing he wasn't looking Nikita rolled her eyes. His flat welcome was quite dismissive, but she had to admire his dedication. If she happened to spontaneous combust, he wouldn't notice unless one of her embers threatened his precious laptop.  
  
''Found anything?''  
  
"Plenty, there's quite a lot of dirt on Miss Parker, and I'm not nearly finished.''  
  
A slight scowl appeared between his brows, contradicted by his narrowing gaze and by the pleased crease of his mouth. She was definitely looking forward to finding out what had him so focused, but for now it was better to leave him alone as he obviously desired.  
  
''Fine, I will be with Michael for a while, assuming he's here too.'' Her assumption wasn't confirmed or denied and, although it could mean that Birkhoff had lost himself and the meaning of her last line in his little world, she chose to interpret his unresponsiveness as confirmation and left the room to knock at the next door. After receiving the invitation to cross the threshold, she found Michael sitting at his desk, his diary in his hands and a pile of photocopied documents before him.  
  
''Hey" she greeted, closing the door behind her with deliberate slowness. She neared him but didn't take her a seat on the chair in front of him, preferring to sit on the corner of his desk knowing he had no particular fondness for this habit but that he wouldn't ever tell her.  
  
''Hi, did you resolve your problem?''  
  
She could feel and hear his concern for her. It soothed the tension she had been experiencing when she was with him lately.  
  
''It's fixed. What have you got there?'' She motioned with her head hinting at the papers he had been reading. Michael selected a few photocopies from the pile and handed them to her.  
  
''Mrs. Markali sent them by fax. They are certifications of consistent withdrawals of money from their accounts that her husband initiated during the last two years without her knowledge.''  
  
''A resourceful lady, contrary to her looks.''  
  
Corinne Markali had not made a good impression on Nikita, although she generally tried not to dwell on her personal opinions of their clients, however unpleasant they might be. She had come to the conclusion from the manner in which she had been looked up and down and from the way the older woman had responded directly to Michael, that dear Corinne considered her little more than another pretty face. It was probably juvenile to get upset by this, but it had been some time since a client had misjudged her like that.  
  
"She comes from money. Her family was among the richest and oldest in the Balkans. Without her legacy, it's unlikely Mr. Markali would have gotten so far in his political career, however brief it has been.''  
  
Michael said this with a distinct edge of distaste in his tone. Families such as this, whose members were so used to handling money that they were only at ease with their 'own kind', reminded him too much of the world where he was born and raised. Nikita nodded, totally surprised at the way the minds of these people worked. They could be idiots and incapable in the easiest of situations, but knew all they were supposed to about protecting their interests. For them it *was* all about money.  
  
''Well, these are consistent." She wasn't sure if she had ever seen so many zeroes at one time. If they were gifts to a lover, it was a situation definitely more complex than they had originally hypothesized.  
  
''Regular too'' Michael said, as he looked at her face while she analyzed the print-outs and turned the pages, watching her as she absorbed the information and jumping to the same conclusions. The withdrawals were initially far apart but then increased in consistency and frequency.  
  
''Do you think somebody is blackmailing him?'' She asked, her eyes glittering with the promise of a challenge. It fit with all the inconsistencies of Nikolai Markali: his abrupt disappearances from work, his recent nervousness when the telephone at his home trilled and his need for cash.  
  
Michael clasped his hands in his lap and sank back in his black leather armchair, giving her a satisfied look, "considering his shadowy past, it's a concrete possibility ''  
  
Finally they were getting somewhere! 


	18. Chapter 17: Digging

Chapter 17  
  
It was standard procedure to deepen the knowledge of their employer's background if they were directly involved with the investigation.  
  
The digging on Nikolai Markali had proved to be very revealing by showing his connections within the eastern European politic. A man fond of his country and interested in social scourges, he had run for presidential elections and had been the favorite until he had surprised his supporters, as well as his party, by announcing his retreat. According to Samuelle Investigations principal informer, Mick Schtoppel, this choice had been dictated more from necessity than from his poor health, as was publicly told to the electors.  
  
It had been rumored that the politician's name figured in a list of possible ''associates'' of a local terrorist faction. No concrete proof of participation in illegal business was found, but it also looked like Nikolai's leaving for the States had discouraged further investigations. Michael, despite his lack of tolerance for the man, valued Mick's usefulness as a consistent source of information and had considered this development intriguing, even though all they had at the time suggested nothing more than a suspicion of conjugal infidelity. He couldn't deny to himself a slight preference for the second possibility presenting itself.  
  
Nikita was teasing him on the benefits of intuition (in that he professed to being a non-believer), when Birkhoff barged in and interrupted them with some freshly stamped pages and exclaiming enthusiastically with his face lit up like a child.  
  
''We hit the jackpot! You guys aren't gonna believe any of this!''  
  
Arching her eyebrow at the display of excitement, Nikita took from Seymour's hands the copies he offered, as the boy explained himself, looking back and forth between her and Michael:  
  
''To begin, Claire Parker isn't Claire Parker. As a matter of fact, from a purely legal viewpoint there's no proof she's ever existed before her employment with Markali. I ran a search of her photo on the databases of police and this came up ''  
  
Birkhoff indicated to Nikita and Michael the sketch showing the full front and profile photos of a slender girl, short blonde hair and vacant china blue eyes. It was her penal recording. She looked like... no, she was the younger version of Claire Parker.  
  
''Sage Matthews. She is barely legal when she marries her contemporary, Peter Ross. They live for a while in Las Vegas where they are sued for fraud at 20 years of age, but they come out of it clean. They are 22 years of age when police search their house and find a large quantity of cocaine. He confesses and discharges her completely, taking all the blame and asserting his wife knew nothing of his activities. While he's in prison, her name appears again during an investigation about an organization of industrial espionage. Her involvement, marginal or not, is never proven. Once Peter gets out, they both disappear from the face of the earth. Seriously, after five years there is barely a trace of them ever existing. ''  
  
While she and Michael went through reading the particulars about Sage's penal precedents, Nikita bit back her question about the legality of hacking into police databases of various states; it wasn't really a question and it wouldn't be the first time so she stayed silent. Besides, even Michael didn't seem to mind and she doubted all this information could be acquired in any other way.  
  
Michael went ahead to examine Peter Ross' file, which was slightly more eye- catching than Sage's, as it bore traces of a penchant toward illicit activity that had started off as a way to survive. Staring back at him from the full front photo was a blonde boy with hardened eyes, orphaned who grew up in Maine.  
  
''What do we know about him?'' Michael inquired, his gaze scanning the page so as not to miss anything.  
  
Birkhoff answered animatedly, "He is evidently proud of his work. Ran from the orphanage in Maine when he was 15, was 16 when he began working for Alec Chandler and by then authorities always kept him under observation. A short time later, Chandler, as we all know, was on trial for slavery. For Peter there was nothing major before his detention. He was released early for good behavior.''  
  
''So basically they reunited and just went poof?''  
  
Still leaning on Michael's desk, Nikita commented and eyed skeptically the two penal recordings, taking Peter's file out of Michael's hands to look at again; her attention drawn to the notion of two lives wasted - it was the first thought that popped into her mind, but she pushed it away.  
  
Photos of archived police files were severe, yet she doubted that the vacant expression on the two young people had anything to do with this.  
  
''Until today'' Birkhoff nodded, and she didn't know if she was bemused or dismayed at seeing him so cheery about such a thing.  
  
''There was a trace showing connections between the Markali's old life and Sage?'' The softly spoken question by Michael seemed to make Birkhoff very satisfied.  
  
''Not in the slightest.''  
  
''Check on Peter.''  
  
Birkhoff rubbed the back of his head in a subconsciously self-effacing fashion, as he rebuked himself for not having already anticipated this request.  
  
''But nothing makes us believe they are still together.''  
  
''Nothing makes us believe the contrary'' was the quietly imperious reply.  
  
They had all the puzzle pieces in their hands and now the game was to make every one of them fall neatly into place.  
  
It was the part Michael liked the most. 


	19. Chapter 18: Cats and phonecalls

b Chapter 18 /b 

Sleep. It called to Nikita luring her as a siren's song would a Greek sailor. The more she slept, the more she felt drawn to that place so warm and quiet; the place she always, always dreamed about.

Her sleep was full of unknown faces, sounds and smells; too far away and disconnected to allow her to find the missing link that would allow the picture to coalesce. She could hardly recall what the visions had been when she was awake yet they filled her with a heady sense of anticipation. Nikita focused her eyes on the paper before her, but all she could see were blurred black lines on a white field.

A yawn soon escaped her.

It was late morning and it was raining. She had always liked the rain and when she was a child had run outside to feel the drops fall on her face and hands. Even today, she loved the smell of rain; the sound of the raindrops beating on the glass of her window and how warm she felt tucked in her bed while outside it rained cats and dogs.

One of her favourite fantasies involved Michael and her making love under heavy covers during a storm.

But why even think about that.

Maybe her life wasn't so healthy after all.

She abandoned the poetry book she was reading. Nikita loved beginning her day with positive thoughts and rarely got the chance to read much at any other time, but now Spike was catching his claws on her pale grey nightgown and she needed to reprimand him. It was one of his preferred pastimes, and she kept forgetting to cut his claws while he slept. Actually, the truth was that she couldn't ever summon the courage to do it.

Nikita was pouring herself a cup of hot vanilla tea when her cell phone rang. Still annoyed with and trying to keep her overactive cat away she answered when she recognized the name flashing on the display, it was Marco O'Brien.

''Marco?''

''Yes, it's me. Listen, something came up about the woman you told me about.''

After their break-up, Marco and Nikita had retained a cordial relationship, although they weren't quite what would be considered friends. They had an agreement that they would exchange professional information, which was helpful for both, if not always ethical. In this case, Nikita had asked Marco to keep on eye on Sage. Naturally Michael didn't know anything about it as he wouldn't have agreed, aside from the fact that the two men never liked each other without any specific rationale.

''What is it?''

''She was found disfigured and killed this morning in the room of a hotel. The husband has just identified the body.''

The voice from the other end of the phone was hushed and she heard background sounds and voices.

''Are you at the crime scene?''

''Yes, my partner and I were assigned to work on the case. I'll need to be talking with you as soon as possible.''

''Can I come over there?''

''You will have to hurry. The murder was particularly brutal, and it is already attracting a lot of unwanted attention from the press.''

As Nikita scribbled down the address, her cat jumped on the table annoyed with the attention he wasn't getting any longer from his mistress.

When she hung up, Spike was glaring at her with inquisitive green eyes. Resigned to having no breakfast and knowing that she should at least tell Michael where she was going, Nikita offered Spike a consoling hug that was beneficial for both of them.

He liked being held in her arms like a baby.

Her long fingers caressed the soft red fur on his back as she clumsily punched in Michael's number. "This is my life Spike, running from somewhere to nowhere whenever the phone rings and having heart to heart talks with my cat."

''Meow." Spike grumbled with a reproachful air, his eyes lazily half-closed.


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19 /b 

Needless to say, when Nikita called Michael and explained what had transpired, he insisted on accompanying her. This was not a situation Nikita had been very happy with.

Sage Matthews had been murdered in a small room in a pitiful hotel. By the time they arrived, journalists, cameramen and a few horrified passers-bys already surrounded the place.

Michael got out of Nikita's car, observed the surroundings and quickly located Marco who was talking with his colleague, Carla Malone, by the building. He waited for his partner, but Nikita just stared straight ahead giving no indication that she knew Michael was waiting for her until she saw him glare in her direction and then hurriedly joined him.

Michael acted oblivious to her displeasure at his presence. He found it interesting how easily she could get irritated with him, and he often forced his hand just to witness her body express repressed fury. Nikita was the type of person that managed to make everyone aware if and when she was unhappy.

Marco moved forward and, even though he acknowledged both of them, his attention was focused on Nikita; knowing from experience that the other guest would hardly share much information with him. He led them inside the shabby hotel to the yet shabbier room where Sage had met with her assumed assassin, whom no one remembered seeing.

Nikita thought it was truly a sad place to die, a single, untouched bed with foul violet sheets, low lighting and a very tiny bathroom where, Marco said, the murder took place. Police officers were still moving in and out searching for elusive evidence of the crime. It could be a figment of the imagination, but she felt colder and shuddered.

Marco was asking them if there was any information they should share with him and how Sage was implicated in their business, but she let Michael handle it, which he did by saying that they were obligated to their clients by confidentiality. She wanted to respond to that, but she didn't get involved in the conversation. She could hardly distinguish their words, attracted as she was in spite of herself by the bathroom 's threshold.

Moving over there, she saw the bathtub where Marco had indicated the body had been found; naked, disfigured by numerous deep blade-like cuts in a pool of blood. It took Nikita exactly five seconds to realize that she was no longer _picturing_ Sage, but actually _seeing_ her.

It was impossible; Sage was at the morgue! However, Nikita actually saw her, lying with her platinum head out of the bathtub, a tattoo on her shoulder, as she soaped her legs.

Nikita blinked twice in rapid succession and the image faded.

Her eyes caught the blood-written words on the surface of the mirror, not particularly legible. It was probably Sage's blood. She had not screamed or fought her attacker; otherwise somebody would have heard her and nobody had. Was she drugged?

Nikita felt even colder.

Fear grabbed at her wildly beating heart with long claws. It was Sage's fear. The bathroom's walls exuded it, and it was affixing itself to her.

Her gaze returned to the blood-streaked mirror. She saw Sage's lips begin trembling like she was about to break into tears while she desperately tried to hold herself together.

Nikita deeply exhaled and inhaled in a strenuous attempt to control her body. i _Fuck /i _. She wouldn't puke like a damned schoolgirl!

''Ni-ki-ta, are you all right?''

She felt, rather than heard, Michael who now stood behind her.

''It's okay. I just need some fresh air.''


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20 /b 

It never failed to amuse him how weak human beings were. How common was their fear, how frail and easy to manipulate were their minds. How different they were from him even if outwardly they were so like him.

He had stopped being afraid a long time ago when they had taught him that fear kills the mind, and he had realized that control was a much greater achievement when he exercised it on others rather than on himself.

The people around him weren't his equals. Why should they perceive themselves in that light knowing who and what he was? They were but playthings to be used and destroyed for his own amusement.

Across the road, he watched how people gathered in small groups exchanging terrorized whispers about what had transpired inside that wretched hotel, and then disbursed leaving for homes or workplaces while taking with them their ineffectual terror. They were like industrious insects waiting to be trampled on.

Conflicted and unhappy by nature, in their torment he found his joy.

He licked his lips thinking about Sage's sweet suffering face as he pushed his knife's blade into her flesh after making it incandescent with his lighter. Remembering how she had struggled for courage while undressing for him and bathing for his pleasure.

He had full control of her, had pushed her terror of him so far inside her that she had not been able to utter one plaintive cry. In his slow torture of her, he had taken on the role of master and the owner of her deepest wishes and feelings, the keeper of all her secrets. He had dissected her mind and what was commonly called a soul, possessing her in death like no other before him had in life.

Police were still at the hotel and he recognized the cop named O'Brien, as he came out of the building with two strangers, a man and a woman. Officer O'Brien was an ordinary man, intelligent but not overly astute, guided by a strong sense of responsibility toward the victims and their relatives, compassionate but not particularly sensitive, rational but not pragmatic.

His guests appeared much more interesting to him. The man was a rock. From the way he moved, it could be perceived that he had a strong personality and ingratiated himself with no difficulty into the discussion. There was sensuality about the man and he could feel it even if he wasn't particularly open to that kind of sexual experience. And there was power. And control.

The man walked very close to the woman; close enough to almost touch her with every step taken. The stance managed to convey protectiveness as well as possessiveness, whether O'Brien understood it or not.

He smirked.

Where the two men were of little consequence to him, the woman was a whole other story. She had natural golden hair; not peroxide-blond like Sage or honey-blonde like Melissa.

The fine lines of her long body were suggested at, but not inappropriately revealed, by a red sleeveless Chinese shirt and snug fitting white pants. She was very beautiful in every way. Her voluptuous lips pursed in an expression of worry, then formed a grim smile as she turned to answer something asked by one of her companions. Her cerulean eyes searched for some missing detail around her, as if she could sense his careful observation of her.

She probably could! He wanted to laugh out loud. He could sense her diversity.

i She was like him! /i 

What an interesting and unforeseen coincidence!

His mind reached out to touch hers, finding a point of contact and creating a link between them. Now he was able to squeeze out a part of who she was and absorb it into himself.

The first sensation he had was of warmth, as a blur of loved faces circled his mind. Yes, she was caring and passionate by nature. Headstrong. Very capable but only if she decided to be.

This woman lived with faith and with pain. He felt in her an unresolved, unaccepted sadness. She was a collage of contrasting feelings.

It was very interesting indeed.

Feeling that his invasion had been perceived and the woman was withdrawing from him, he planted inside her mind a special trace of his 'visit', one she would later assimilate as he now reluctantly left her.

He watched as the woman stroked her arms as if to warm her body, glanced around again before exchanging a few words with her 'friend' and entering the car with him. He would have to seek information about her and make plans for their next contact.

Ah! He had the sensation that she wouldn't be very enthusiastic about playing this new game with him, but she i _would /i _ play.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 21 

_Three days later_

In her apartment, Nikita sat on the couch while Spike observed her from his lucky position on the cushion, as she idly flipped through the pages of a magazine. She had been very stressed lately. A knock at the door closely followed by the ring of the bell drew them both out of their peaceful reverie.

Tossing aside the magazine, Nikita went to the door and peered through the peephole. Hesitating, she looked back into her apartment to assure herself that it was presentable, undid the security chain and finally opened the door.

Marco was on the other side.

''Busy?'' he asked her, lightly smiling.

''Not at all'' she replied, unaware that she was matching his expression and stepping aside to allow him entry.

Nikita went back to the couch where the ever-attentive Spike jumped onto her lap while Marco remained standing.

''Do you know why I'm here?''

''I can imagine.'' She kept her blue eyes steadily focused on him, but her hands rhythmically stroked the cat.

He found it a little frustrating and had the nagging suspicion she knew it.

''So?''

''So", she remarked "there's nothing I can tell you about our case. I'm honour-bound to maintain my client's privacy.''

''Even at the risk of becoming the accomplice of an assassin?''

Marco was at his wit's end, grasping at straws and it showed. His comment was so absurd because at this point he had no identification, no decisive proof and no possible motive. All he knew was that Sage had no reason to be where she had been and that she had been working for Nikolai Markali under an assumed name. According to her husband, this was to hide her shady past from her employer. On top of that, there was that absurd report on the autopsy, and Nikita was refusing to provide any help whatsoever.

''Our clients aren't criminals Marco, and I can't and won't tell you anything.''

''Anything? Anything at all?''

Nikita felt a pang of guilt for adding to his frustration. She 'd like to help him, but she couldn't even if she had wanted to. This was because Corinne had nothing to do with Sage's death, and she would be met with a lot more than disbelief if she really explained to him how she knew.

In a last exasperated gesture, the cop handed her the folder he had been holding in his hands.

''Just look at these.''

Unwillingly, Nikita took the folder in a show of good will, if anything else. Under Marco's watchful brown eyes, she pulled photos from it. The first ones were of Sage's brutalized body. As she had read in the newspapers, the deep cuts in her flesh showed burnt edges caused by a blade that had been heated. On the right shoulder, there was a tattoo, just like in her vision, in the design of drake's head. A familiar design and she knew exactly why. Just another piece of information she could not share with Marco. Or Michael.

Figures.

''As you see, perhaps it wasn't the first time" Marco said, as Nikita viewed the second set of photos. "The other woman was Melissa Salinger. She worked in Germany selling fake documents. She then came to America, became a wife and mother and was killed last winter in Salem.''

Melissa 's body had the same cuts and was arranged in the same pose as Sage had been. It was a truly shocking sight.

Marco's face bore a look of tiredness, and he pleaded with her to please listen.

''I've got people to answer to Nikita, people who are afraid. What can that poor man tell his daughter when his little girl won't go to sleep because she has nightmares that the man who killed mommy is going to kill her? How can you let this continue if you know something? This could be a serial killer, for God's sake!''

''You have no right speaking to me like that. I do not know anything!''

Nikita was desperately trying to stay calm. The subject alone made her nervous, but Marco's doggedness wasn't helping at all. It was useless telling him about the Markali's and she would get sued if she did. Conflict of interest was truly a fitting phrase.

''I don't believe you!'' Marco exclaimed angrily.

''Then you know the way out, Marco" she icily replied while pointing towards the door, her fingers growing more rigid as she kept caressing the cat in her lap. Spike flew off her lap, perceiving her tension.

''Look at those photos and tell me again that there's nothing you can do to help me.''

''I have already done that!''

Without knowing if she was angrier with him or with herself for not resolving this situation much more quickly, Nikita rose and moved toward the door with Marco slowly following her.

O'Brien raised his hands in surrender, remembering just how stubborn this woman could be especially when getting on her bad side.

''I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be pushy.''

She was standing beside the door and turned her head swiftly to mock him ''No?''

Opening the door, she made it very clear that she wanted O'Brien to leave but he reached out and closed it.

''Help me.'' He pleaded.

Nikita lowered her eyes and raised them again. '' I can't tell you anything that Peter Ross couldn't better express.''

She hoped that Marco got the hint, but he gave no outward sign that he had. He simply and silently stalked out the door she had again opened only after looking at her intently and muttering under his breath ''you can keep the pictures.''

Closing the door, Nikita felt guilty. She hated leaving things unfinished.

Uneasily, she noticed the folder he had left on the couch. Feeling her throat go dry, she went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Afterwards, she stowed the folder on an overhead shelf intending to not give it a second glance.

This was a resolve that lasted no more than five minutes.

b Chapter 21 /b 

_ i Three days later /i _

In her apartment, Nikita sat on the couch while Spike observed her from his lucky position on the cushion, as she idly flipped through the pages of a magazine. She had been very stressed lately. A knock at the door closely followed by the ring of the bell drew them both out of their peaceful reverie.

Tossing aside the magazine, Nikita went to the door and peered through the peephole. Hesitating, she looked back into her apartment to assure herself that it was presentable, undid the security chain and finally opened the door.

Marco was on the other side.

"Busy?" he asked her, lightly smiling.

"Not at all" she replied, unaware that she was matching his expression and stepping aside to allow him entry.

Nikita went back to the couch where the ever-attentive Spike jumped onto her lap while Marco remained standing.

"Do you know why I'm here?"

"I can imagine." She kept her blue eyes steadily focused on him, but her hands rhythmically stroked the cat.

He found it a little frustrating and had the nagging suspicion she knew it.

"So?"

"So", she remarked "there's nothing I can tell you about our case. I'm honour-bound to maintain my client's privacy."

"Even at the risk of becoming the accomplice of an assassin?"

Marco was at his wit's end, grasping at straws and it showed. His comment was so absurd because at this point he had no identification, no decisive proof and no possible motive. All he knew was that Sage had no reason to be where she had been and that she had been working for Nikolai Markali under an assumed name. According to her husband, this was to hide her shady past from her employer. On top of that, there was that absurd report on the autopsy, and Nikita was refusing to provide any help whatsoever.

"Our clients aren't criminals Marco, and I can't and won't tell you anything."

"Anything? Anything at all?"

Nikita felt a pang of guilt for adding to his frustration. She 'd like to help him, but she couldn't even if she had wanted to. This was because Corinne had nothing to do with Sage's death, and she would be met with a lot more than disbelief if she really explained to him how she knew.

In a last exasperated gesture, the cop handed her the folder he had been holding in his hands.

"Just look at these."

Unwillingly, Nikita took the folder in a show of good will, if anything else. Under Marco's watchful brown eyes, she pulled photos from it. The first ones were of Sage's brutalized body. As she had read in the newspapers, the deep cuts in her flesh showed burnt edges caused by a blade that had been heated. On the right shoulder, there was a tattoo, just like in her vision, in the design of drake's head. A familiar design and she knew exactly why. Just another piece of information she could not share with Marco. Or Michael.

Figures.

"As you see, perhaps it wasn't the first time" Marco said, as Nikita viewed the second set of photos. "The other woman was Melissa Salinger. She worked in Germany selling fake documents. She then came to America, became a wife and mother and was killed last winter in Salem."

Melissa 's body had the same cuts and was arranged in the same pose as Sage had been. It was a truly shocking sight.

Marco's face bore a look of tiredness, and he pleaded with her to please listen.

"I've got people to answer to Nikita, people who are afraid. What can that poor man tell his daughter when his little girl won't go to sleep because she has nightmares that the man who killed mommy is going to kill her? How can you let this continue if you know something? This could be a serial killer, for God's sake!"

"You have no right speaking to me like that. I do not know anything!"

Nikita was desperately trying to stay calm. The subject alone made her nervous, but Marco's doggedness wasn't helping at all. It was useless telling him about the Markali's and she would get sued if she did. Conflict of interest was truly a fitting phrase.

"I don't believe you!" Marco exclaimed angrily.

"Then you know the way out, Marco" she icily replied while pointing towards the door, her fingers growing more rigid as she kept caressing the cat in her lap. Spike flew off her lap, perceiving her tension.

"Look at those photos and tell me again that there's nothing you can do to help me."

"I have already done that!"

Without knowing if she was angrier with him or with herself for not resolving this situation much more quickly, Nikita rose and moved toward the door with Marco slowly following her.

O'Brien raised his hands in surrender, remembering just how stubborn this woman could be especially when getting on her bad side.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be pushy."

She was standing beside the door and turned her head swiftly to mock him "No?"

Opening the door, she made it very clear that she wanted O'Brien to leave but he reached out and closed it.

"Help me." He pleaded.

Nikita lowered her eyes and raised them again. "I can't tell you anything that Peter Ross couldn't better express."

She hoped that Marco got the hint, but he gave no outward sign that he had. He simply and silently stalked out the door she had again opened only after looking at her intently and muttering under his breath "you can keep the pictures."

Closing the door, Nikita felt guilty. She hated leaving things unfinished.

Uneasily, she noticed the folder he had left on the couch. Feeling her throat go dry, she went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Afterwards, she stowed the folder on an overhead shelf intending to not give it a second glance.

This was a resolve that lasted no more than five minutes.


End file.
